


Child Psychology

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Gen, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard has always been very academic, but perhaps he isn’t going to learn how to deal with his latest witness from a textbook. Richard/Camille UST.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kitchen Sink

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have decided to just have a million stories on the go. Fed up of not writing what I want to because I think I have to finish a story first. Now I’ll just write what comes naturally. It is supposed to be fun after all!

 

A very loud clang followed by an equally loud curse had Camille rapidly descending the step ladder and rushing into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” She addressed the legs sticking out from the cupboard under the sink.

“Fine,” his voice was a tad higher pitched than normal, and Camille suspected that wasn’t true. Well if he didn’t want to admit what he’d done that was fine by her, as long as he hadn’t broken her sink more…or himself. “Ah ha! Got it! All fixed.”

He emerged carefully, grumbling the entire time, “You know, I don’t understand what was wrong with your old place.”

“I was just a tenant there, I own this house! Well I will once I’ve paid the mortgage off. And it was such a bargain!”

He was now brushing imaginary dirt off his trousers. Camille knew it was imaginary because of how much time he’d spent cleaning under there before he approached the actual task of fixing the thing. Anyone would think she’d forced him to come over and do it, but he’d volunteered.

“Yes, funny nobody else wanted a house somebody had been murdered in.”

Camille shrugged this fact off, “We caught the killer didn’t we?”

“Actually, I think it is a rather savvy investment. I mean, most people around here would be worried about the restless spirit of the murder victim remaining in the house…What is that for?” He was referring to the bunch of rosemary and tub of table salt Camille had just removed from a grocery bag.

“What these?” She said, waving the rosemary about dramatically. “Well the salt I’ll be applying liberally to the front door step, then we attach a sprig of rosemary above each door and that should protect me from any vengeful sprits. Though I did forget the lemon oil to anoint the windows.”

Richard had no words, and before he could find the necessary ones to start berating her, she decided to tell him the truth, “It’s for lunch. Now I have a working sink I thought I’d cook. Least I can do since you fixed it, though it was you who broke it originally.”

“Retrieving a vital piece of evidence!” he protested. “You aren’t making chicken soup are you?”

She rolled her eyes at his enquiry, “Would I do that to you?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly. She grinned, because she had actually considered it.

Unfortunately Richard wasn’t going to find out what Camille had intended to cook, as before she could tell him his mobile rang, “Hi Fidel.”

“Sir, are you still with Camille?”

“Yes, something happened?” Camille stopped unpacking groceries at the tinny sound of her name from the phone and came closer to try and over-hear the conversation.

“Ah good. We’ve had a report of a body Sir, paramedics are on scene and say it’s very likely to be murder.”

Fidel provided an address that Richard scrawled on a piece of paper Camille had pulled from somewhere. She was now stuffing food into the fridge, realising lunch was clearly off. Before he’d ventured under the sink he’d removed both his jacket and tie, and though he’d retrieved the former he couldn’t locate the tie anywhere.

“Have you seen my tie?” Camille just grinned at him in reply. She’d been painting the coving in the hall all morning and had needed to put her hair up, but couldn’t for the life of her remember which bag contained the hair bands. When he’d been distracted she’d whipped his tie off the table and used that instead.

“You haven’t hidden it have you, because that’s very childish and unprofessional…”

“I’ve not hidden it,” She interrupted him, shaking her head no a little more enthusiastically than was necessary to allow him to spot it. She found the situation very amusing.

“It’s not a bloody hair tie Camille,” he reached for it but Camille sidestepped him quickly.

“But I think it suits me!” She protested teasingly.

“Be that as it may, I still need it back,” another step towards her proved fruitless, as she easily danced out of the way.

“Oh so you think it suits me too?”

Richard had had enough of this, there was a murder to be investigated for Christ’s sake. He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders and turned her away from him and told her in his best ‘that’s-an-order’ voice to hold still. She still giggled and squirmed a bit as he tried to retrieve his tie from amongst her curls. Unfortunately she seemed to have utilised a knot previously unknown to man, or at least that was his excuse for why his fingers kept fumbling. Eventually the damn thing came free, but he swore it now smelled of her coconut shampoo. Camille was providing him with one of her best mock-sulking looks, but he just shook her head at her, grabbed his case and headed out of the door.

 

* * *

 

The crime scene turned out to be in a bungalow in quite a nice area of the island. A little way down the street, a forty-something blonde was crying her eyes out whilst Fidel tried to comfort her and gain some useful information. Dwayne was waiting for them outside.

“Victim is Marie Labelle, a violin teacher. Looks like she took a fatal beating, it’s not pretty,” he informed them. “Mrs Collier over there had come to pay for her daughter’s lessons and stuck her head inside when she saw the door was ajar. Well, I think that is what she said, she seems to be a bit shocked.”

The scene was a mess, and Richard felt confident about retrieving physical evidence of the killer, this clearly hadn’t been planned. The young woman on the ground had taken a beating, but it made Richard sad to acknowledge he’d actually seen worse in his time.

“Husband? Boyfriend?” Camille asked, clearly seeing the same scene as Richard – one that screamed domestic abuse.

“Mail in the hallway is only addressed to her, but I didn’t get here much before you and spent the majority of that time calming Mrs Collier down. Haven’t actually checked the rest of the place yet.”

“Okay, Camille can you go take over from Fidel and see if you can get something useful out of her? Tell him to start doing door to door inquiries please. Dwayne can you please start photographing? I’m going to look around the rest of the house.”

Camille and Dwayne both nodded in acknowledgement and set off on their assigned tasks.

In the victim’s bedroom, there was also no evidence of a man in her life. Clothes in the wardrobe all appeared to be hers. However in the bathroom Richard saw a few things that caused a flare of concern. With a sense of dread, he pushed open the final door and it confirmed what he already knew. This was a child’s bedroom. But where was the child?

“Dwayne!” He called out urgently. The officer came out from the living room, camera still around his neck.

“Yes Chief?”

“A child lives here, a girl by the looks of it. We need to find her.” Richard checked the wardrobe, praying that the kid had gone to a sleepover or something.

“You think she’s still in the house?” Dwayne asked, looking appropriately horrified by the thought.

“I have no clue, but we need to find out if she is. Maybe you should go see how Camille is getting on with Mrs Collier, she may have a better…” Richard trailed off, he’d caught a very quiet rustle from under the bed. Lifting the blanket, he found a pair of terrified brown eyes staring back. In shock, he dropped the blanket back and sat back on his heels.

“She’s under the bed,” he said quietly to Dwayne. “Can you try and talk her out?”

“Me? What makes you think I’d be any better at it than you?” Dwayne protested equally quietly.

“Because everyone is better at people than I am! Why did I have to send Fidel off? Maybe we should get Camille?” He asked hesitantly.

Dwayne gave him a look of disapproval even Richard could read, “We can’t leave her under there!” He knelt down next to him, “Look let’s try together.”

Richard lifted the blanket back up, only slightly reluctantly, “Hello.” Seemed as good a place to start as any, but the child remained silent.

“Salut?” tried Dwayne. She remained silent. He reached into his pocket and produced his police ID, handing it the girl who took it off him polity and stared at it. He doubted she was old enough to read but he hoped the combination of the ID and his uniform may register.

“Look, I know you probably scared, but we’re police officers and it is safe to come out from under there,” Richard told her as kindly as he could manage. The child remained silent, staring at the ID. Though it felt pointless, Richard also gave her his. “See, both policemen.”

He and Dwayne shared a look, and he was about to admit defeat and have Dwayne stay with the child whilst he fetched Camille when she crawled out from under the bed and sat down on the floor in front of them.

 

* * *

 

 

Mrs Collier had been inconsolable when Camille reached her. After a lot of things said in a soothing tone, and a bottle of water pulled out of the jeep, the middle aged woman was finally calm enough to speak sense.

“So Marie Labelle was expecting you to come around and pay?” She prompted gently.

“Yes, you see I normally pay her at Carrie’s lesson, which was yesterday afternoon, but I forgot my cheque book. Marie said I could stop by today and I knocked and she didn’t respond and so I pushed open the door it was ajar and that’s when I…” Mrs Collier started to hyperventilate again and Camille placed a hand on her shoulder and encouraged her to calm down.

Once her breathing returned to normal, Camille asked, “How long has your daughter had lessons with Marie?”

“Oh, nearly two years now, she’s really good. Carrie loves her, sometimes when I came to pick her up she wouldn’t want to leave. She loves playing with Danielle,” Mrs Collier still spoke about Marie Labelle in the current tense.

Camille interrupted her, “Sorry, who is Danielle?”

The look on Mrs Collier’s face was one of absolute horror, and Camille realised that Danielle probably wasn’t a cat.

“Oh my God,” Mrs Collier breathed out, before tearing off down the street towards the crime scene.

“Mrs Collier, wait!” Camille caught up with her. “You can’t go inside. Tell me who Danielle is.”

“Her daughter! How could I forget about her, she’s only four, God is she dead as well?” Mrs Collier looked like she was going to disobey Camille and burst into the house, she imagined as a mother she couldn’t stand the idea of not knowing what had become of the child. Camille wasn’t very comfortable with it either. Mrs Collier wasn’t sobbing, but tears streamed down her face and Camille felt her fear.

“Wait here,” she told her firmly. She didn’t need to enter the house though, as Richard and Dwayne came out at the moment, a small child in tow. Mrs Collier made to rush forward and take the child, but Richard held up a hand to stop her and Camille also held back the woman.

“I understand your concern Madam but I need to take her to a Doctor just to get checked over,” Richard told her firmly.

“Oh God, Danielle are you okay?” Mrs Collier asked from where she stood. The child made no reply. “Is she hurt?” she addressed Richard instead.

“She appears to be physically fine,” Richard told her.

“Did she…God she was there wasn’t she?” Mrs Collier whispered the last statement.

“Dwayne, perhaps you could finish taking Mrs Collier’s statement whilst Camille accompanies me to the hospital?”

“Yes Chief,” Dwayne led Mrs Collier off down the street again, though the woman still glanced back.

Camille crouched down to introduce herself, “Hi Danielle, I’m Camille.” The girl stared solemnly back at her. She looked very vulnerable in her night dress, untamed frizzy hair loose about her face. With a jolt, Camille realised there was a blood stain on the night dress.

“It’s not her blood?” She asked her boss, not wanting to ask the actual question in front of the girl.

“No,” he confirmed what Camille feared, Danielle must have her mother’s blood on her. “She hasn’t said a word since we found her. Paramedics are heading back to collect her and we better call Eleanor Patterson.” The Commissioner’s wife was the head social worker for the island.

Camille thought about the body of the woman, the mother, still lying in the house. This was another day she didn’t like her job.


	2. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, as this chapter does discuss children dying, domestic abuse and rape. However it’s not all doom and gloom…Spoilers for season 2, episode 5.

Richard and Camille didn’t really say much to each other as they waited outside the paediatrician’s examination room. In his briefcase Richard had an evidence bag containing the girl’s night dress, which a nurse had brought him half an hour before. The Commissioner and Eleanor Patterson were both due to arrive soon, and decisions could then be taken. Fidel had called to say he and Dwayne had finished processing the scene, and samples were packaged ready to send to Guadeloupe to be tested for DNA evidence. Another smaller evidence bag in his case held a cheek swab from the child, to eliminate her DNA from the evidence. Richard knew that technically they should take her prints as well, but Fidel was not an idiot and would easily be able to tell a child’s prints from the others – it could wait.

“Do you think she saw the murder?” Camille finally broke the silence. Richard had spent a long time thinking about that as well.

“If she did, I don’t think the killer knew she was there. I’m not sure he would have left her alone if he had.”

“He?” questioned Camille, even though she agreed with the Inspector he often didn’t jump to conclusions, she wanted to hear his reasoning. She also didn’t want to go back to the silence, it let her thoughts run free.

“I’ve seen too many women killed by partners to believe that was done by a woman,” Richard told her firmly, and she nodded in agreement.

“So perhaps Danielle approached her mother after she was killed, and that’s how she got the blood on her. She must know her mother is dead, I can’t imagine her being willing to leave with us otherwise.” Camille looked angrily up at the ceiling. She was a police officer and capable of compartmentalising. She was not going to cry, even if the whole thing was desperately sad.

“When I was made a DC I was assigned to the Sapphire Units,” Camille looked at him questioning. “They are units set up for investigating serious sexual crime. Apparently women don’t feel threatened by me, not that I often dealt with the victims themselves. We’d get a lot of women in who’d been raped by their partners or ex-partners, sometimes with children sleeping in the next room. You’d see these little ones sitting in the waiting areas, being entertained by family liaison officers and I’d wonder how they did it. I really wish I’d asked now.”

Camille understood what he was saying, there weren’t any officers with specific training to question children on Saint Marie. There were only three or four social workers for the whole island, and most of them also acted as fosterers when children needed to be taken into care temporarily.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she said. “But I think we can do it.”

Richard looked at her and gave her a small smile, showing his gratitude for her faith. A sudden burst of activity brought an end to their conversation, as Commissioner Pattison, his wife Eleanor and the Doctor who had been examining Danielle Labelle came down the corridor, talking intently.

“Inspector Poole, Sergeant Bordey, Dr Ash has just confirmed that the child is in fact physically unharmed,” The Commissioner told them.

“She is a little dehydrated, but a nurse managed to get her to drink some juice. Unfortunately she refuses to speak, and since there is no physical reason preventing her the natural conclusion is it’s a psychological issue. She did see her mother’s body at the very least. I’m happy to release her into the care of a professional fosterer as I don’t think spending the night in hospital will help her recover. However I would like her to return for appointments with our child psychologist, unfortunately she works at the special needs school today however I have one arranged for tomorrow afternoon,” The Doctor paused and turned to address Richard. “I’d like you to try and encourage her to eat, I’m not sure when the last time she did was. However if she won’t please inform the psychologist tomorrow and we may reconsider admitting her.”

Richard looked dumbfounded for a moment, Camille was also certain she had misheard, “I’m sorry, surely she is going to a foster family for now?”

It was Eleanor who responded, “There is no place available with our normal families, in fact Selwyn and I even have two children staying with us at the moment because of the shortage. However Selwyn told me you’re registered as a foster carer in the UK? Is that not correct?”

“That was to enable me to keep underage offenders at my house who were cooperating with the police to make sure they didn’t disappear off the radar. They were teenagers, they got given a laptop by IT services and largely stayed in their room. It’s not the same as a four year old child.”

The commissioner and his wife shared a look, and he spoke next, “We still feel it’s the best option. We also need to take into account the fact that if the killer of her mother discovers or suspects the girl may be able to identify them, she could be in danger.”

That was a fact Richard couldn’t deny, but he still didn’t feel comfortable. Eleanor passed him a bag, “Selwyn and I retrieved these clothes from her house. Obviously you can’t investigate this case with a child in tow, so I will come and take her tomorrow to a play group at the special needs school, and then on to her appointment with the child psychologist, before I return her to you.”

Richard tried not to look too resigned as he asked the Doctor, “Anything else I should know?”

The Doctor looked into the file he was holding, “She was born here so we have her medical file, but the only other trip she ever seems to have taken here was for a cut foot when she was two. Seems to have stood in some broken glass.”

Richard glanced at Camille, who showed her relief that the girl had not been abused on her face.

“You have a copy of her birth certificate then?” Richard asked the doctor.

He handed it over, “There is no father listed, which is unusual enough on Saint Marie that the midwives remembered Marie Labelle. She came to Saint Marie from Guadeloupe, already pregnant. Told the midwives that the father was a sperm donor, and in that case the space for the father legally has to be left blank.”

A bell rang somewhere in the back of Richard’s head, telling him that it couldn’t be true, but he didn’t know why he was coming to that conclusion. There would be time to review the evidence for that later.

 

* * *

 

Eleanor was going to have to drive Richard and Danielle back, because her car was actually fitted with a child seat unlike the police jeep. Before getting in the car Camille had asked him if he wanted her to come as well.

“No, I’ll be alright, if I can’t work the case for the rest of the day I really need you, Dwayne and Fidel to be on it. We need to talk to as many people who knew Marie Labelle as possible, and find out if this child has any other family as soon as we can.”

“Yes Sir,” Camille waved goodbye to the child in the car. The child raised her hand back, and Richard felt like they might be able to get through to her after all. Well, Camille if not him.

Eleanor told him to call if he had any problems, and now Richard was sitting across from the silent child unsure where to start. He wondered if it was too early to put that call in, and then he remembered what the Doctor had said about trying to get her to eat something. In fact, he was starving, since he never got lunch and it was now dinner time.

“Okay, how about some food?” He shouldn’t find her lack of reply so disconcerting, the lizard never spoke back. No wait, Harry was not a child, he shouldn’t really start comparing them. He doubted Danielle wanted mashed mango and bugs for dinner. He tried to remember being her age and instantly knew what he should make her.

 

* * *

 

After 15 minutes of Danielle staring silently at his food offering, Richard sighed and told her they would go out for dinner. She let him put on her shoes, and took his hand without comment. He knew it was pride, but he didn’t want to have to call Eleanor. Instead he elected to take Danielle to see Catherine. Taking a child to a licenced bar didn’t seem like the best idea on the planet, but he also felt if anyone could, Catherine would be able to come up with something Danielle would eat.

Several people who knew Richard looked at him like he’d kidnapped somebody else’s child, but Catherine had obviously spoken to her daughter today because she wasn’t too shocked when he came in.

“This must be Danielle?” She asked, smiling kindly at the child, who looked up at Catherine shyly. Richard lifted her onto a bar stool, which she happily discovered spun around and she began to entertain herself.

“Can I help you Richard?” Catherine asked.

“You really, really can,” he replied a little too vehemently. Catherine just raised a questioning eyebrow. “She doesn’t seem to like my cooking, and I don’t think she’s eaten all day and I thought you might know more about what a child wants to eat then I do. Do you think you could make something for her? Please?”

Richard Poole could really frustrate Catherine, but sometimes she found herself surprised to find he brought out her maternal side. Camille was always making excuses for him (though never when he was actually within ear shot) so perhaps her daughter’s obvious fondness for the stuck up Englishman was rubbing off on her.

“What did you make her?” She posed the question partly to enable her to decide what to make, and also out of curiosity.

“Fish finger sandwich,” he replied, as if it was the most logical choice in the world.

Catherine was utterly perplexed, she’d never fed Camille any form of convenience food even when rushed off her feet, it was one of her rules, “Why on earth would you make her that? It’s not proper food - no wonder she didn’t want it.”

When he thought back on it later, Richard couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made him tell Catherine the truth. He didn’t normally share things about his past, but he felt like he had to defend his decision. When it came down to it, he was really worried about what other people thought about his capability to take care of child. So he told Catherine the truth.

“When I was four my Mum was going to have another baby. I was really excited, I stayed with my grandparents when my Mum went into labour. I must have asked every ten minutes if the baby had arrived yet. However when my Dad turned up to pick me up, he told me that I wasn’t getting a baby brother after all. He’d been still born you see. My Mum was obviously upset, but she stayed strong in front of me. But my Dad he took it really hard as well, he was really quiet and he wasn’t eating dinner with me and Mum so I stopped eating as well, because I thought that’s how you showed you were sad. After two days of refusing to eat anything I heard Mum and Dad arguing and then my Dad came in and he made fish finger sandwiches and he sat down and he ate them at the table with me. So I made her them because that’s what I ate when I was sad.”

He hadn’t been looking at Catherine when he told her the story, but he looked up to find her with tears in her eyes. This led to a general feeling of alarm and panic. Much to his surprise, Danielle was also looking at him, having stopped swinging about on the stool to listen. He doubly regretted telling the story.

“Um, please stop crying?” he tried tentatively. Catherine looked like she was resisting the urge to throw her arms around him, and Richard prayed to a God he didn’t really believe it that she would manage it.

“I’m sorry I questioned you. I’ll go see what I can come up with,” she walked away wiping the tears from her eyes and Richard let out a breath. Then he noticed that Danielle was staring at somebody behind him.

Camille had clearly entered the bar at some point, but to his relief it was evident she hadn’t heard his story when she asked disbelievingly, “What did you do to my mother to make her cry?”

“Well, the whole situation is very sad,” he replied vaguely, and she seemed satisfied that her mother must have been overcome by emotion at the thought of a motherless child.

“Why are you here?” Camille asked, smiling at Danielle who had gone back to swinging round on the bar stool.

“I was hoping your mother might come up with something Danielle actually wants to eat.”

“Oh is she cooking, I’m going to get her to make something for me as well I’m starving, we never had lunch you know…”

She wondered off into the kitchen. Richard lifted Danielle off the stool and took her over to a table. He realised that he stupidly hadn’t brought anything to entertain her with. He’d ask what she wanted to do but he didn’t think he’d get a reply…So he just started talking.

“I have a little lizard, he lives in the house. I hope you don’t mind them. His name is Harry. He just sort of dashes about the place and eats bugs. Don’t be scared if you see him he’s quite friendly. Though sometimes he watches you for no reason.” She was actually listening to him, so he supposed he wasn’t doing too badly. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and pulled out a picture he managed to take of Harry so he could send it to his Mum. She hadn’t seemed that impressed he’d been keeping a lizard as a pet though. “This is what he looks like if you see him.”

She took the phone off him and tried to zoom in by touching the screen. She was clearly more technologically advanced than Richard and looked perplexed that it didn’t work.

“Sorry it’s quite an old phone. I normally only use it for actually calling people. Here if you want to look at other pictures you press these buttons here.” He demonstrated and she quickly picked it up. He was pretty sure there wasn’t anything that interesting on there but she seemed entertained enough.

Camille returned shortly, looking suspiciously red eyed.

“What’s the matter?” Richard asked warily.

“Maman was chopping onions,” she lied quickly, and badly.

Richard let out a sigh of frustration, “Oh, she told you didn’t she? I don’t know what you’re crying for, it happened ages ago, it’s not a big deal for Christ’s sake!”

Camille raised her eyebrows and glanced at Danielle, who was looking at Richard wide eyed.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to shout,” he told her, but Camille got the impression maybe he was apologising to her as well.

“I just…you could have told me.”

Camille wasn’t going to say it directly, not in front of the child – probably not even if Danielle hadn’t been there. It wasn’t the way they worked, they never said anything directly. She wanted to know why he hadn’t told her that when Aimee died, instead of the stupid dog story. The truth was he’d thought the dog story was more relevant, he was only four when his brother had been still born and it’s not like he ever knew him. He had really loved that dog, however there was no way he was sharing any of that with her.

“I guess I could have,” Was the response he settled for, and he thought he could interpret from her look that she might just understand.

Danielle poked him in the arm to gain his attention, and showed him his phone screen. She’d figured out how to turn the actual camera function on and had gotten a photo of that moment. Despite the poor quality of the camera, Richard still felt it still displayed too much intimacy given his working relationship with Camille. He was a little shocked by it, but he managed a smile and told Danielle it was nice. He was saved from having to show it from the clearly curious Camille by the arrival of Catherine from the kitchen, who placed a tray down holding three plates of Chicken, rice and beans. He suspected the chicken would be spicy.

“Thank you Catherine but I’m not actually hungry,” he told her, hoping to get out of eating it without offending her, after all he might need her to do more cooking…

Catherine gave him a look that made him feel like she was reading his mind, so he cast his gaze downwards, “Maybe you should remember what you told me earlier. Also I didn’t add any chilli.”

Richard tried not to look too reluctant when he picked up his fork, especially because Catherine was right and Danielle was watching him somewhat expectantly. Despite the food not being exactly to his taste, it was totally worth it when after he’d been eating for a few minutes Danielle picked her own fork and began to eat as well.

In fact, he was surprised just how happy it made him.

 


	3. Forces of Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if anyone saw the Channel 4 documentary “The Murder Workers”, about victim support workers for families bereaved by homicide. One of the families included a very young girl who had witnessed her mother being killed. She just chatted about it whilst playing with her dolls, as if it happened to everyone. It was utterly heart breaking. I wish things like that only did happen in stories.

Richard Poole now had a dilemma. Danielle had fallen asleep shortly after she finished eating. He didn’t want to wake her, but he could hardly let her spend the night sleeping in a chair in a bar. Apparently his attempts to find a solution must have given him a stupid look because Camille came back from chatting with her mother and just laughed.

“I’ll drive you home in the jeep. You can hold her on your lap, right?”

He was pretty sure that wasn’t legal, but he trusted Camille and didn’t really have that many other options. He was amazed at the fact Danielle didn’t wake at any point, even though Camille did hit the odd rut in the road (with a grimace as opposed to her normal glee) and continued chatting to him about rather inane things. In fact he was a little envious of her. But then, he wondered how long this peaceful sleeping would realistically last.

Richard got Danielle tucked in with minimal fuss, and then realised he’d just sacrificed his bed when he could have put her on the couch. Well, he fell asleep on the chair so often it didn’t matter really. Camille was out on the veranda fiddling with his telescope again so he went to join her before she broke it.

“What did you learn today?” His curiosity overrode his concern that Danielle might hear, she seemed pretty much conked out.

“Neighbours say that Marie moved in with her mother when she was pregnant with Danielle. They were very close and the mother died about a year ago – from what they know the mother,” here Camille consulted her notebook pulled from her bag. “Virginia Labelle, was the only family Marie had – apart from Danielle. Apparently she was very nice, talented violinist but kept a low profile.”

“So still no indication of any man on the scene?”

She shook her head in reply, “Fidel found her lesson schedule and spoke to quite a few parents. One of them gave details of a playgroup Marie would take Danielle to at the local Church Hall. It’s on tomorrow so perhaps we could drop in and see if we can learn anymore.”

Richard leaned against the railing next to her and let out a long breath. “There has to be _someone,_ ” he said, turning back to face her. “I mean, people must make plans for this sort of eventuality.”

Camille frowned, “I don’t think people plan to get murdered, Richard.”

He gave her a sullen look, “Obviously I’m not suggesting we’ll find a lovely set of handwritten instructions written by the victim on what to do in the event of her murder - but she was a single parent who loved her child, she must have had a contingency plan. Even if it was just somebody she felt sure would look after Danielle if anything happened to her.”

Camille didn’t have a reply, because it was after all a logical conclusion to draw. After a couple of moments of contemplative silence Richard suddenly piped up, “I mean _you_ would look after Harry if something happened to me, right?”

Camille hadn’t meant to laugh, but the surprising force of his concern for the little lizard overwhelmed her. He looked at her abashed.

“I’m not saying it’s the same as leaving a child behind,” she’d been very clear in the past that you cannot equate pets to people and he wasn’t making _that_ mistake again. “It’s just I realised that I sort of just assumed you would and that I should check.”

Camille felt a stab of anxiety when she considered his words, “Nothing is going to happen to you Richard.” She knew she couldn’t guarantee it, what she meant was ‘nothing will happen to you if I have any say in the matter’ but that would probably just make him uncomfortable.

“Well, people don’t plan to get murdered Camille,” he said, throwing her earlier statement back. “Or hit by buses. Though knowing my luck I’ll be killed by something as comical as a coconut to the skull.”

“Well you survived a hurricane…”

“Two hurricanes!” he interrupted her, but rather than argue she just rolled her eyes.

“You survived _two_ hurricanes, tropical fever and an attempted snake attack, however if the fates decide to do you in with a coconut I promise to look after your lizard. Though I don’t think he’d starve, he did survive before you, you know.”

“We don’t know that! DI Hulme might have been feeding him,” a pretty weak argument, but one he knew she couldn’t refute. He avoided her gaze, fearing that she was probably laughing at him, and muttered, “Thanks.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers, “You’re welcome. Though I expect you to look after my mother if anything happens to me.”

His head snapped up, “What? Since when would your mother ever need ‘looking after’?”

“What, you think she wouldn’t be sad if I died?”

“Of course, but she would also probably hunt down whoever was responsible and kill them before I had to chance to offer my condolences.”

“Exactly, so you have to stop her so she doesn’t end up in jail,” Camille acted like this was a reasonable request, as Richard hadn’t cottoned on to the fact she was teasing him yet.

“Listen, that woman is a force of nature. I can no more stop a hurricane than Catherine Bordey,” he threw up his hands in a despairing gesture to reinforce his point. “All I asked you to do is mash up some mango and in return I have to prevent murder?”

“It is sort of your job.” He didn’t have a comeback for that, and Camille just responded to his glare with a grin. “Well you can just keep an eye on her and not moan if she fusses over you, mind she’s already started.”

“Has she?” It was news to Richard.

“You have no idea of what I have talked her out of doing,” she whispered conspiringly. “You better hope nothing happens to me.”

Richard was tired, and thinking about a worst case scenario where Camille was no longer around was making him feel queasy. As a consequence he had no patience to be teased tonight, “Look, this is a moot argument, I couldn’t stay here if something happened to you, everything would remind me of you. It would be…”

He realised what he was saying mid-sentence. He wanted to put his face in his hands and will himself back in time 30 seconds, but since he was 100% certain that wouldn’t work he opted for trailing off and looking awkward. A sideways glance at Camille showed her intently studying him, which only increased his discomfit.

“Well it’s a good thing neither of us are planning to get murdered,” she said after what had seemed very much like an eternity.

“Yeah,” he managed, staring at the floor and desperately searching for an alternative topic of conversation that wouldn’t be weird to segue into.

Camille rescued him, commenting as she watched Danielle sleeping, “She looks so sweet when she’s sleeping.”

She turned to look at him, and was taken aback by the serious look on his face.

“What is it? What are you worried about?”

Before Richard could actually explain, what he’d been dreading occurred. Danielle seemingly instantly transformed from a peaceful, sleeping child to a screaming, sobbing wreck. Camille moved with a speed and instinct he concluded he simply didn’t have, and had the child in her arms and was comforting her in a matter of seconds. It seemed like an age before the sobbing decreased even minutely. He was standing there without a bloody clue. Should he go in and try to help? Would that only disturb her further, and undo the progress Camille was making? If Camille wanted him there, wouldn’t she ask? How the hell would he have coped if she hadn’t have been there?

Eventually he decided to stick with the status quo of hiding on the veranda and assuming he’d be asked for if needed. This option had not left him without a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach and a sense of shame. He must have gotten lost in his own guilt-ridden thoughts, because when he next checked his watch it was just past midnight and he realised he hadn’t heard any noise from inside for quite some time.

He risked a glance through the door and faced his second dilemma of the evening. Danielle had been successfully soothed by Camille and was currently sleeping. As was Camille. Since he’d already chosen status quo as his choice of action earlier, he stuck by his decision. He didn’t even contemplate the idea of trying to sleep, instead he picked up the text book that had been pressed on him earlier by Eleanor and started to read.

 


	4. Pioneering Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally rather angsty. Perhaps writing Succession temporarily drained all my comedy potential!

Richard felt like he was being watched. He looked up from his book, expecting to find Harry regarding at him since he was normally the responsible party. Instead, Danielle stared up at him solemnly.

“Good morning,” he tried.

“Can I have some juice, please?”

She’d spoken, oh Sweet Lord she’d spoken. Of course one key thing Richard had learnt from his nocturnal studies was that he should not overreact to this development, and continue to act as if Danielle hadn’t spent the last 24 hours silent. If he made too big a deal of it, she could react by returning to silence. So he schooled his features before responding.

“Sure, let’s see,” he opened his fridge and pulled out two cartons. “I have mango or pineapple, which would you like?”

Danielle appeared to take this question _very_ seriously, screwing up her face in concentration before eventually replying, “Can I have them mixed together?”

That really didn’t sound appealing to Richard, but hey he didn’t have to drink it, “I don’t see why not.” He prepared the juice as requested. “Would you like something to eat as well?”

“Banana sandwich, please,” she said, as she accepted the juice from him.

Two thoughts came to mind, the first was that Danielle had been instilled with very good manners. The second was why the hell would anyone eat a banana sandwich?

He might as well try to be honest, “I’ve never made a banana sandwich before.”

“You’ve never made a banana sandwich!” she cried out with the sort of incredulity that can only be achieved by a child who has yet to realise how big the world is. It was really rather endearing. He shook his head to confirm the fact. She sighed at him dramatically, “I can make one but you have to help me use the knife.”

“Ok, sounds like a plan.” He retrieved bananas and bread, which he assumed would be the constituent ingredients. Since she couldn’t reach the counter, he stood her on a chair carefully and relieved to find her balance seemed fine. He peeled a banana and put two slices of bread down.

“We need more,” she told him firmly. “One for you and one for Camille and one for Harry.” She removed three more bananas. Richard glanced over his shoulder to see Camille was still fast asleep, that woman was proving able to sleep through anything.

“Harry doesn’t eat banana sandwiches,” he explained.

“But you said you’ve never made a banana sandwich!” Her tone was accusatory, and for a moment he felt guilty for no apparent reason.

“I haven’t.”

“So that means he’s never had a banana sandwich, so you don’t know if he likes them or not!”

Her logic was irrefutable, that was for sure, “Ok then, you and I shall do some pioneering research into whether lizards like banana sandwiches or not.”

Her face screwed up again, and he realised she had no clue what he’d just said, “You know, an experiment.”

“What’s an experiment?”

“A test designed to prove or disprove a hypothesis,” What the hell was wrong with him? What four year old knew what a hypothesis was? He shook himself mentally, and tried again whilst Danielle began peeling the bananas.

“Right so, say you have a question like ‘does Harry like banana sandwiches?’ what is the answer to that question?”

“You don’t know!” Danielle provided the answer he’d been hoping for.

“Exactly! So an experiment is when you do something that will let you answer that question. So we’ll offer Harry a banana sandwich and see if he eats it,” he waited to see if his explanation had been good enough. Her only response was, “Ok!” so he just had to assume she’d understood him.

“Now we have to slice up the bananas,” she instructed him. Richard retrieved the bluntest knife he owned from the draw and held Danielle’s hand as she began to gingerly cut the bananas into slices.

“Can people come back from the dead?” she asked in a dramatic change in conversation.

“No, I’m afraid they can’t.”

“Have people done experiments?”

He guessed his explanation had been understood after all, “Lots but they all agreed that people can’t come back.”

She kept chopping for a few moments, before adding, “Jesus came back.”

Richard wasn’t quite sure where to go with that, and settled with, “He wasn’t a human though. People can’t come back, I’m sorry.”

She was done with her chopping, and laid slices of bread side by side before beginning the meticulous arrangement of banana slices, “If people could come back, do you think my Mum would?”

He really should have gotten a general book of dealing with grieving children, the psychological reviews generally assumed people knew what to say. Part of him wished Camille would wake up, but the other half was oddly determined to prove he could deal with.

“I’m sure she would Danielle,” he reassured her. At least he thought it was reassuring, until she looked at him in alarm and asked, “But isn’t she happy? With Granny?”

“She…she is. But she would want to come back because she would want to make sure you are ok.”

“Can I be dead then?” She asked, as if it was the natural solution. He took her hand to stop the arrangement of banana slices and turned her towards him.

“Why would you want to be dead?” He asked her, aghast.

“Because when you are dead you get to go to heaven, where you are happy, and I can see Mummy and Granny,” there she went with her logic again, floored logic to Richard but perfectly true to her child’s mind.

He let out a long breath, really just to give him time to form an answer, “Well, your Mum and your Granny wouldn’t want you to be dead Danielle because, because, um, there are things you can do when you’re alive that you can’t in heaven and your mum would want you to do them.”

“What sort of things?”

He cast his mind about, and seeing the sea out of the window impulsively said, “Swimming.”

“Swimming?”

“No swimming in Heaven, they are all floating around on clouds in the sky aren’t they!”

She seemed willing to accept that hastily made argument, “What else?”

“Growing up. Your Mum would want you to grow up, and then you can get married. And maybe have your own children. Can’t do any of that in Heaven.”

“We need sugar,” she told him, which was not the response he expected.

“What?”

“You sprinkle sugar on top of the banana slices, silly!”

“Okay,” he dug out a small pot from the cupboard and she used a teaspoon to sprinkle it over before applying another slice of bread on top.

“I guess I won’t be dead then for now,” she said, and he felt a rush of relief. He had not wanted to explain to the child psychologist that one night with him and left his charge suicidal.

He popped her down from the chair whilst she held onto a plate with her sandwich. When he turned around he was surprised to find Camille sitting up in bed, knees pulled to her chest. He found it strange she hadn’t said anything, and had to wonder how much she had heard. Danielle clambered up onto the bed next to her and began to eat. He really didn’t like the idea of crumbs in his bed, but resisted the urge to comment.

“Banana sandwich?” he offered Camille nervously.

She gave him the sort of smile that had a tendency to make his stomach flip, and took it off him, “Why not.”

He supposed he might as well try his own sandwich, he liked bananas and bread so a combination of the two couldn’t be _that_ terrible. He got the shock of his life when he did turn back to the counter though.

Turned out lizards did like banana sandwiches.  


	5. The Unexpected Challenges of Children’s hair

 

“Right!” Richard said with more confidence than he felt. “I suppose we should get you washed and dressed.”

“Ok!” Danielle agreed brightly, before jumping off the bed and tearing out of the porch doors before Richard really had any clue what was happening. He tried to follow her, slowed down by his shoes filling with sand, and discovered her dress discarded on the beach and her sitting in the shallows splashing happily and making appropriate ‘washing’ motions. Camille caught came up behind him, barefoot and laughing.

“God, aren’t you supposed to wait half an hour before you swim, she could get cramp and die!” He went to make a mad dash to retrieve her, but Camille grabbed an arm to hold him back.

“Firstly, that’s an old wives’ tale, something I’m surprised you didn’t know. Secondly, I don’t think that counts as swimming.”

“Right, yes, I did know that. I just momentarily…”

“Panicked?” she interrupted, with a smile.

“I did not panic,” he said firmly. “I…momentarily allowed concern to override reason.” She laughed lightly, and he just gave her half a smile back. Even he knew how lame that argument sounded. “Did you wash in the ocean when you were a child?” he asked, continuing to be bemused by Danielle’s behaviour.

“No like most of the island we did have indoor plumbing, Sir.” She sounded a little offended, and actually probably had to right to be.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “I just can’t figure out why she would respond like that.”

“She probably just wanted to play in the ocean,” She told him sensibly. He began gearing himself up to retrieve Danielle, perhaps hesitating a little more than most men would, and beside him he heard Camille tisk. She skipped out into the water, picked Danielle up with no regard for the fact her clothes were getting wet and carried the squirming, giggling child back over to him.

“I’ll rinse the salt and sand off her, you check what she has to wear,” Camille’s tone sort of implied an order, but perhaps on this front he was best off following her lead.

He heard Camille ask Danielle what why she’d run into the ocean, to his surprise Danielle began to patiently explain to Camille that you don’t get to go swimming in heaven.

 

* * *

 

Richard was relieved to find that four year olds could in fact dress themselves. It was rapidly becoming clear that not only did he not know anything about basic child psychology, he wasn’t even clear on child development. He was starting to wonder if Danielle would surprise him at any moment by giving herself a manicure or even writing a novella. Camille was out on the porch phoning into the station so he was unable to look to her for help when Danielle approached him with a hair band. It would seem hair care was not on the list of skills she had developed yet. Problem was, it wasn’t exactly on the list of Richard’s skills either.

“Ok, right, um, turn around,” Danielle did so obediently, and he grabbed his comb off the side. He managed to get it about half an inch through her tight curls before it got stuck. He didn’t want to hurt the girl, but he tugged gently anyway, only for it to snap very decidedly in two. He frowned at the offending comb, wondering how he would extradite it, and himself, from this situation. He could hardly hand over Danielle to Eleanor Pattison with bits of comb stuck in her hair now could he? Danielle didn’t seem to have even noticed there was a problem, she happily holding a conversation with Harry.

Camille returned and saw him staring at the source of his frustration, and smiled at him almost fondly, “Oh my goodness, my mother broke so many combs in my hair when I was a child. I think she had this vague idea her genes would balance out my father’s and I’d end up with lovely loose curls. She soon learnt though.”

She rummaged through the bag of things from Eleanor and retrieved a much more sensible looking wide toothed comb. Taking Danielle by the hand she popped her back down onto his bed and began to work Danielle’s hair into a much more elaborate style than he had planned. Danielle was pretty delighted when Camille showed her in the mirror.

“Hey, you want to look at some more hairstyles,” pulling some sort of woman’s magazine out of her bag. Richard didn’t know how she could appreciate classic literature, but also read such drivel. With the two of them settled down happily in his bed looking at photos of hairstyles far to elaborate to be worth the time, in his opinion, he decided maybe now was the time for tea.

 

* * *

 

 

There was one hell of an awkward moment when Eleanor Pattison arrived to pick up Danielle. Knocking briefly on the doorframe, she entered cheerfully beginning to wish Richard and Danielle a good morning, stopping mid-phrase when her eyes came to rest on Camille, still lounging in his bed with Danielle reading the magazine. It really didn’t look good, and he hurried to explain the situation.

“Um, this isn’t what it looks like,” he started.

“Richard isn’t exactly used to the intricacies of Afro-Caribbean hair,” Camille interrupted him, before he could start the whole convoluted story. “I thought I better help Danielle out.” She indicated the hair products on the bedside table. “We were just debating what hairstyles to try later on.”

Richard had to admit Camille’s explanation was vague enough to be interpreted incorrectly, but was still true. When he thought about it, the actual version of events would probably sound a little unbelievable. Hopefully Eleanor would assume Camille had come by earlier and stayed for breakfast. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice Camille was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully…

“Stop looking so worried Inspector, I was just a little surprised – not accusing you of anything,” Eleanor said reassuringly.

“Ok, good, um, Danielle come here,” the child hopped off the bed, magazine in hand, and came over to him, surprising him by taking his hand. “Eleanor has come to take you to play group, so you can play with some other children.”

“Are you coming?” was her immediate reply.

“I can’t I’m afraid, I have to go to work,” he said, reasonably. Unfortunately, his response caused Danielle to start looking fearful and very much on the edge of tears. “Don’t worry, Eleanor is very nice. You’ll be back here for dinner!”

Danielle didn’t look terribly comforted, “I could come to work with you. I’ll be good.”

“I’m sure you would be but, well, we have to ask some people some questions and they might not answer properly if you are there because they’ll be worried about upsetting you. It’s my job to find out what happened to your Mum, Danielle,” he knew it was necessary, but he was still amazed by how guilty one slightly tearful child could make him feel.

“Can I borrow the magazine?” She asked Camille hopefully. Camille smiled back and told her to keep it, and Danielle obediently, if a little reluctantly, transferred her grasp of Richard’s hand to Eleanor’s. He waved her off cheerfully and then mentally drew a line – it was time to stop being sentimental and start being a police officer.

 

* * *

 

 

“Shall I drop you off at home so you can change, then meet you back at the station?” he said as he came back inside.

“Sounds like a plan.”

He looked at her, gathering up her things, and felt like he owed her an apology. He’d completely frozen last night, and Christ only knew what would have happened if she hadn’t been there. He couldn’t let it happen again either – so not only did he need to apologise, he also needed her advice. Richard’s main problem was the fact he had absolutely no idea how to broach the subject.

“Look, about last night,” he began awkwardly. “I didn’t exactly react in the most, well, appropriate or I don’t know, supportive manner, and I’m sorry that…”

She held up a hand to still his fumbling apology, “Look, this morning if Danielle had said to me she thought it was a good idea to be dead as well, I probably would have just burst into tears. But you talked her out of it with reason of all things. So maybe we play to our strengths, I’ll do the hugging and the pampering and you do the reasonable explanations for difficult questions and organisation and maybe between the two of us we can avoid messing her up any further.”

It sounded like she was proposing a partnership of sorts, a shared responsibility of Danielle. He knew he needed the help that was for sure. And really, they were already partners at work, and Danielle had been assigned to his care because of work, so it sort of made sense. But on another level it disturbed him slightly, this realisation they’d essentially have to parent this child together for a few days, because he couldn’t help but worry he might actually end up enjoying the experience. That playing house might prove just a little too tempting.

She was still waiting for him to make some reply, and there really was only one thing he could say, “Yeah, yeah I think that’ll work.”


	6. Clues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you could call this a “procedure” chapter, but we do have a murder to investigate! I mention rape and domestic abuse again, so trigger warnings.

They knew that Marie Labelle would bring her daughter to a playgroup held in the Church hall, so it seemed like a good place to try and gather some more information. Richard was pretty desperate to try and identify the next of kin as soon as possible. He’d had to investigate deaths previously where the police were forced to ring numbers in an address book or mobile phone until they hit on who they really needed. It was a dire task, you often ended up trying to extract yourself from conversations with individuals who had only really been passing acquaintances and were morbidly curious about the circumstances of the death. In all of the cases he could think of though the individuals had been elderly, often childless spinsters, not young mothers. But then Marie Labelle didn’t exactly fit the mould, for one thing she didn’t have a mobile – she still had an address book and landline. Perhaps she didn’t like the idea of people being able to reach her 24/7, Richard had to admit on a few occasions he’d considered chucking his device in the Thames. They arrived early, the couple who ran the group were still setting up. News of the death of Marie Labelle had already reached them, and they were appropriately sombre.

“Where is Danielle? Who will look after her?” Daisy McLachlan seemed pretty close to tears, and her husband placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“She’s currently staying with a foster carer,” Camille supplied. “We are having some problems with locating the next of kin of Miss Labelle – do you know of any relations?”

Daisy shared a look with her husband, who shook his head frowning, so she replied, “I’m sorry, she was very close to her mother I believe but she passed away, oh, must have been at least a year now. Though…did she not sometimes come to Mass with another woman, Dom?”

Richard gave Dom McLachlan a hopeful look, but the man continued to frown, “Yes, you’re right, maybe every other month. Marie would come to Mass every week with Danielle, but she shied away from being active in the congregation. It took a lot to convince her to come here, well, we think…” He trailed off, looked to his wife who picked up immediately.

“We thought she might be nervous of people _judging_. I mean, she was a single mother after all, Dom and I have no problem with that, I think probably only a few old ladies would. We aren’t just open to church goers here, so I think that’s how we got her to come,” Daisy explained.

“Was she close with any of the other parents here?” Richard asked.

Daisy sighed, “I don’t think so. She would chat to them occasionally, but she normally stood apart from the group. Must mums like the chance to have a gossip and know the kids are ok, but Marie preferred to watch Danielle.”

He exchanged a look with Camille, neither of them could hide their disappointment. He pushed it aside for now, they might get something from the other parents yet.

“Marie didn’t talk much but Danielle is a chatty one. That girl was always coming over to tell me a story about her week!” Dom said with a fond smile. “She’s very articulate for her age. She didn’t ever want to talk much to Daisy or the other Mums, I think it might have been the novelty of me being a man – you know since she didn’t have a father at home. I don’t think Marie ever mentioned boyfriends or anything like that.”

A sudden barrage of noise announced the arrival of a group of mothers with small children in tow, so Richard and Camille thanked the McLachlan’s for their help and went to question the other attendees.

 

* * *

 

 

They were soon surrounded by a gaggle (Richard was certain that was the correct collective noun) of curious women desperate for the details of the case, but very low on details useful to the police. Eventually they managed to escape, left the women to their gossip. Richard was just about ready to get out of there (the background noise of children’s screams and protests were hardly conducive to being able to think clearly) but Camille tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out a rather harassed looking woman trying to calm down a set of twin boys.

“We haven’t spoken to her yet,” she told him, leading him over.

The woman looked up from her struggles, and said breathlessly, “Oh please, just one moment, Dom!” They were joined by the play group leader. “Please could you distract the twins for a moment, I don’t want them to overhear anything macabre,” she said this last part in a loud whisper, and Dom carted the boys off.

“Sorry, I didn’t come over before, the boys can be quite feisty! Plus I wasn’t sure how much, ah, information you were sharing about poor Marie’s demise. I’m Jo Falkirk,” She held out her hand which Richard accepted.

“Detective Inspector Richard Poole, this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, did you know Marie Labelle?”

Jo Falkirk let out a long breath, “Well, sort of. She probably spoke to me the most often – or rather I spoke at her. She’d listen but didn’t very often contribute. We’re both single mums you know, the only ones who go here, I guess I was trying to create my own support network. I told her all about how I ended up on my own but she never really shared her story, and I felt a bit rude pushing the issue.”

“It must be difficult raising two boys on your own,” Camille said sympathetically. Richard tried to push down the annoyance of her making an irrelevant statement – connecting with people is what Camille was good at, after all.

“They are a handful, as you’ve witnessed. Now I love my boys, but between you and me sometimes I was jealous of Marie, little Danielle was a delight. I’d complain jokingly her little girl was showing us all up. Sometimes she’d tell me how grateful she was to have a little girl.”

That last statement set off that little bell in Richard’s head. The little bell that warned him he wasn’t making a connection - that he was missing something, but wasn’t kind enough to tell him exactly what it was.

“I really hope you find whoever did it, and I’m truly sorry I can’t be of more assistance,” Miss Falkirk concluded. Whilst Richard was trying to figure out what had bothered him about the statement, Camille had asked if Marie had ever mentioned any relatives or close friends – once again the answer had been negative.

 

* * *

 

 

At the station, he did the stare-at-the-whiteboard-and-hope-something-shouts-at-him thing, but to no avail. He’d called Eleanor, who told him Danielle was fine. He arranged to come to the medical centre at four, so he and Camille could talk to the child psychologist after she’d interviewed Danielle, and then he could take her back into his care after that.

“You didn’t know if you were having a boy or a girl when Juliet was pregnant, did you?” Richard suddenly asked Fidel.

He was naturally puzzled by the question, but didn’t hesitate in answering, “No, we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you have a preference?” Richard asked him earnestly.

“Uh, well, no I didn’t as long as the baby was healthy. Juliette confessed she would quite like a girl, but like me just wanted a healthy baby first and foremost, Sir,” Fidel was wondering if he’s missed something major. “Are you going to be a father, Sir?” He couldn’t help it, he shot a look at Camille’s stomach as if he might be able to check for a bump. She caught the look and gave him a glare in return.

“No! Why would you think that? No I was thinking about what Jo Falkirk said, about how Marie Labelle said several times she was grateful she had a girl. I mean, it just seemed odd, because most people they don’t have a preference do they?”

“Did you see the way Jo Falkirk’s boys were fighting?” Camille asked. “That’d be enough to make _me_ wish for a girl!”

“Maybe your right…” he muttered, but he wasn’t willing to let it go quite yet. He studied the picture of the murder scene, the disarray – cushions on the floor, coffee table smashed, crucifix on the wall crooked… “She was Catholic!” he practically shouted.

“Yes…” Camille used her patient tone, the one that indicated he wasn’t being expansive enough.

“I mean _proper_ Catholic. Goes to Mass every week! Crucifix on the wall!” He carried on excitedly.

“And this is such a breakthrough because…?”

“Well come on, what is the likelihood that a woman _that_ Catholic would use a sperm donor, which goes against the Church’s teachings? She said she was grateful she had a girl, another way to think of it is why would she not have wanted a boy?” He pressed on.

Camille thought about this a moment, and then seemed to catch up with him, “A boy might have reminded her of his father. You think she was raped? And that’s how Danielle was conceived?”

“Exactly!” He practically shouted. Camille was staring at him hard. “I should sound less excited by that, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” she agreed. “So she comes to Saint Marie to escape this man? Doesn’t want him to find her so lies about using a sperm donor, then keeps a low profile. But you think he found her, and he killed her? It’s good on paper Richard but it’s just an idea at the moment.”

“We have Danielle’s DNA, we can compare it to what we found at the scene that we suspect belongs to the killer. Fidel!”

“I’ll call the lab in Guadeloupe, Sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

Driving over to the health clinic, Camille suddenly piped up, “I don’t think I’d have a preference either, not the first time at least, what about you?”

Richard had been mentally calculating the earliest possible time they could get back the DNA results, and ended up just staring at her in confusion. She glanced at him, then clarified, “Children, I don’t think I’d have a preference if I had a boy or a girl – though having one of each would be nice eventually.”

“Oh right.” He didn’t think further comment was necessary, though it was apparently expected as she kept glancing at him.

“Do you?” She eventually asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have a preference? Would you want a boy or a girl?” She sounded rather frustrated with him, which he thought was a little unfair.

“No, I guess not, but it’s not exactly a relevant question,” he responded, a little annoyed with her digging.

“Sorry! I was just trying to make conversation! I thought we agreed we _don’t_ have to talk about work all the time.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…I just mean, it seems pretty evident children aren’t in my future, that’s all.”

“Why would you say that?” she cried, sounding genuinely indignant.

“Why do you care?” was his response.

“Don’t answer a question with a question,” Camille complained, then waited him out until he was forced to come up with an answer.

“I just think if that sort of thing was going to happen it would have by now, I mean, I’m a bit past it,” he admitted uneasily.

“Oh you’re not lost on the shelf yet, stop being so pessimistic!” She said.

“ _Left_ on the shelf and I think you should go to Guadeloupe tomorrow.”

“You’re just trying to change the subject,” she protested, as they pulled into the medical centre.

“Yes, yes I am. But it would be a good idea – I’m hoping to have the DNA results tomorrow morning and I think it’d be good if you could go there and look into Marie’s life. I’d rather not rely on the police there, it won’t be a high priority for them,” Richard explained.

“It’s a good idea, ok, I’ll take an early ferry over and come back that night.”

 

* * *

 

 

If he didn’t trust Eleanor, he’d never have believed the woman he was being introduced to was a professional child psychologist. She had bright pink hair, at least three piercings in each year and was dressed like she’d escaped the seventies. Richard hid his surprise, and when she spoke Richard had himself another example of not judging a book by its cover.

“We have the recordings of the session ready for you. I did manage to get Danielle to talk a little about the event. We were talking about games she played, I wanted to get round to hide and seek to see if it would trigger her to talk about hiding under the bed. Instead she told me something I think might be relevant – that her mother used to play a game with her. She’d say a special word, then Danielle would have to hide until she heard her mother say another special word. When I asked her when she last played the game, it was the night of her mother’s killing,” the doctor explained. “I’m not sure if you agree but that sounds like a mother trying to prepare for a worse-case scenario.”

“It seems likely, yes,” Richard confirmed. “Anything else?”

“She wouldn’t respond to the more direct questioning, not unusual. I think it might be a good idea to have a few more sessions. I would say whilst she’s in your care, pay attention to what she says – don’t discount anything. Children will often say things that have significance if you question it – they also often work out difficult emotions using play, so watch her carefully. If you’re not sure something is relevant, please call me or mention it next session.”

The doctor knocked on a door, opening it to reveal Eleanor and Danielle drawing. The girl leapt up immediately and brought him what she’d been drawing, clearly excited to show him. Richard squinted at the scribbles, but unfortunately Danielle’s artistic skills were more akin to Picasso than Da Vinci and he had no idea what he was looking at. A sideways glance at Camille revealed her to be equally puzzled, but Danielle was looking expectant so he struggled to come up with something to say.

“It’s lovely!” he tried. Then, thankfully, Eleanor came to the rescue.

“Danielle has been working very hard on the picture of Harry,” she said, smiling.

Of course! That would explain all the green, and he supposed that bit in the left hand corner might be a banana sandwich, “Well it looks just like him. We’ll show him later, I’m sure he’ll agree.”

“Lizards can’t talk,” Danielle told him firmly.

“Oh well that explains why he never answers any of my questions.” Beside him, Camille giggled, and being shown up by a four year old suddenly wasn’t so bad.

He took her by the hand and as they left the building she asked, “Are we going to the same place for dinner?”

He was taken by surprise when Camille answered, “No, today you’re coming to my house!”

When he looked at her for explanation, she told him, “Well I still owe you lunch for fixing the sink. She’ll probably like my cooking better than yours.”

He’d put money on that being a fact. 


	7. Lessons from a Four Year Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not the delay in this chapter was caused by one thing and one thing only. I could not, for the life of me, decide what Camille should cook. References/spoilers for the movie Up.

Camille carefully guided Danielle through the hallway, where paint tins were scattered and the ladder was still up – clearly the coving wasn’t finished yet. Luckily the living room, though sprinkled with the odd box and featuring a layout of furniture that probably wouldn’t make it into an interior design magazine at the moment, was perfectly habitable.

“Do you want some juice, Danielle?” Camille asked the girl, who had flopped dramatically onto the sofa.

“Yes, please.”

She shot a questioning look towards him, and he told her water would be fine. He watched Danielle carefully, remembering what the psychologist said about how any conversation or behaviour could be significant. After a few moments he surmised that there probably wasn’t much of a clue to be provided by her hanging upside down off the end of the sofa giggling. Danielle must have spotted something though, because she suddenly sat upright again and asked him excitedly, “Can we have Peppa pig, please?”

This question made no sense to Richard, and he frowned as he tried to work out if he had misheard or if she had misspoken. Seeing the look of confusion on his face, Danielle clearly tried to aid him by snorting incredibly loudly given her size. So, she’d definitely said pig then.

“I’m sorry, you want peppered pig for dinner?” He asked for confirmation. The horrified look that Danielle gave him indicated he clearly hadn’t come to the right conclusion.

“You can’t eat Peppa!” She protested tearfully.

“I was just joking!” He said in a rush, figuring it would be easier than explaining he had no idea what she was going on about. Camille came back in the room and his Detective Sergeant took one look at the tearful child and shot a glare of the sort of intensity he’d managed to avoid for ages. As if the child’s tears weren’t enough to make him feel chastised.

“What’s the matter, Danielle?” Camille asked the girl, though Richard really thought she should ask him so he didn’t get accused of something he was not guilty of.

“I want to watch Peppa pig but Richard said we were going to eat her!”

“Watch?” He repeated, suddenly realising where the two of them may have gone wrong. “It’s a TV show?”

Camille had gotten on her knees to talk to Danielle, “You see, Danielle, Richard doesn’t have a TV that works. So he didn’t realise who you were talking about, otherwise he would never, _ever_ , have suggested eating Peppa.” She told the girl gently, asking him a whole lot more firmly, “Isn’t that right, Richard?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed hurriedly, relieved to see Danielle looked a lot calmer.

“Can we watch Peppa then?” Danielle asked, with only a hint of a sniffle. “It starts when the big hand is on the four.”

“Sure, you can watch with Richard whilst I make dinner,” Camille told her. This annoyed him a little, as he had no desire to watch children’s TV, but perhaps Camille thought it would help alleviate Danielle’s fears that he planned to take her favourite TV character to an abattoir. She had found the appropriate channel, and Richard settled down and told himself he should be grateful the show was at least in English.

 

* * *

 

 

Children’s television programming was not exactly big when he had been younger, but he had to question if he would have been as entertained as Danielle seemed to be. All he knew was that he was without doubt not as entertained right now. He spared the girl a glance, and she seemed pretty absorbed still, even though Peppa had ended and been replaced with some sort of Spanish/English bilingual show about a girl called Doris or something. Now if they made a French/English kids show he might at least learn something useful. Deciding that Danielle was unlikely to care (or perhaps even notice) if he left, Richard decided to go investigate the clanging noises and occasional muttering coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Camille appeared to be giving the cook book a glare equivalent to the one he had received earlier, so he assumed things were perhaps not going so well. “What are you making?” he asked, startling her and causing her to drop the knife she had been holding with a curse. She looked sheepishly towards the door, but when Richard leaned back to check on Danielle the girl was busy pretending to swim on the floor and clearly hadn’t heard.

“It’s ok,” he reassured Camille.

“I am _trying_ to make Boeuf en croute,” she said, tone tinged with frustration. “I’ve made it with salmon a hundred times, I don’t understand why this is harder.”

Richard frowned, that sounded French. However when he looked at the recipe book he smiled happily, “Oh, you mean Beef Wellington.”

Camille had retrieved the knife, and pointed it at him as she made the next statement, “You can call it whatever you like but _I mean_ Boeuf en croute.”

He smirked at her, but didn’t argue the point, “I never realised you were so domestic.”

“What are you saying a woman can’t have a career and be able to cook and sew and such?” She snapped angrily, tipping mushrooms from a frying pan.

“No,” Richard said carefully, preferring not to fight with her when a child was in the other room. “I was saying that I didn’t know that _you_ could.”

“Right, yeah,” Camille replied, still a little flustered. “Look, if you’re going to be in here disturbing me do something useful. Um, beat those eggs.” She said, pointing distractedly whilst consulting the cook book again.

Richard had to question why she’d cook something so complicated, Danielle probably didn’t have very sophisticated tastes and was too young to be impressed. Then he remembered that she’d been intending to cook this for him, as a thank you for the whole fixing the sink and helping her move thing. The cook book was new as well (or old, but never used), and suddenly he felt a little flustered as well. Surely a woman like Camille – confident, independent, and savvy – hadn’t actually been trying to impress _him?_ He beat the two eggs as instructed, and pushed the thought aside as ridiculous. Camille still looked a little stressed, so he decided he would get out from under her feet and went to check on Danielle.

As he entered, she pointed at him and said in a surprisingly commanding tone, “Dance!”

“No!” He replied firmly, sitting back down on the sofa, but it would seem she was not willing to be satisfied by a simple refusal. When she continued stare at him, hand still raised to point, he elaborated, “I’m sorry I don’t know how to dance.”

She shook her head, and Richard started to get the impression Danielle thought he was a poor, deprived adult who needed educating desperately. In some ways, that was correct. In the unlikely event he ever did find himself a father, there were a lot of skills he needed to learn. Danielle once again demonstrated her prowess with technology, eagerly prodding at a button on a device that sat on Camille’s mantelpiece. Music that Richard didn’t recognise (and, a few bars in, knew he didn’t want to learn to recognise either) filled the room.

She stood directly in front of him, and instructed, “You dance like this!” What followed looked more like jogging on the spot accompanied by some wild hand movements then any dancing Richard had ever seen, but then she was only four. He couldn’t help but smile, she really as quite adorable.

 

* * *

 

With Richard out of the room, Camille was able to force herself to concentrate, and soon had the damn thing in the oven. She didn’t know what she was thinking, she’d been flicking though the book in the shop and when she’d seen this recipe had a feeling of familiarity. Then she’d remembered Richard mentioning it was always what his Mum made on Boxing Day. She hadn’t known what Boxing Day was, and had then received a long lecture on how it evolved. She had bought the book, mentally convincing herself it was full of recipes that would be useful for all the dinner parties she could throw now she had the room. It was just a coincidence the first time she used it was to make him dinner.

She came back into her living room, to find Danielle had put some music on using her iPod docking station, and was proceeding to dance wildly in the middle of the floor. Well, Camille assumed it was meant to be dancing, the girl probably wouldn’t be winning _Strictly Come Dancing_ at any point soon. Richard was watching, apparently highly amused. He was smiling in a way he rarely did, relaxed and open, unaware he was being watched. She couldn’t deny it, he did have a very attractive smile, and she took a moment to continue to enjoy it. If it meant he smiled like that more often, a child would probably do him a lot of good.

Much to her embarrassment, Camille was caught staring. Danielle cried out that Camille should come and dance as well, and when Richard turned to look at her Camille was unable to avert her gaze fast enough. Though some people might consider her next actions more embarrassing, Camille enthusiastically joined Danielle in dancing in the hopes it would distract from her _faux pas_ of staring at Richard. He just continued to sit there, trying not to laugh, and Camille was relieved when the song ended.

Danielle was all for hitting repeat and starting the process over again, but Camille convinced her that watching her DVD of _Up_ was a much better idea. She then left see to things in the kitchen (though there wasn’t actually anything to see to) because she didn’t want to end up crying at the start of the movie which always seemed to happen no matter how many times she watched it. Because Danielle was still absorbed in the movie, they’d ended up eating off plates on their laps, which was a far cry from what Camille actually had planned when she’d first thought of cooking this meal, and something her own mother would probably classify as bad parenting. Richard hadn’t minded though, apparently more disturbed by the idea of dogs being able to pilot small planes than not eating at a table.

When he started to mutter about scientific inaccuracy, she hushed him saying, “It’s for children, Richard.”

“Well if it’s just for children how come you have a copy?” She hadn’t got a comeback for that one. Great, now he probably thought her idea of culture was a kid’s film. She must have looked like she was sulking, because a moment later he hesitantly added, “I like Kevin.” She smiled at him, but his admission must have embarrassed him on some level, because he was resolutely staring at the screen.

Danielle had curled herself up in a corner, and when the credits came on they both realised she was fast asleep. At least they could surmise her normal bedtime must be somewhere between 7 and 8 then. Richard looked ready to doze off himself, Camille suspected he hadn’t slept much the night before.

“Do you want to just stay here,” Camille whispered, though she wasn’t sure why, Danielle had just been sleeping through the movie. “We could take the bed.”

Richard gave her a shocked look, and it took Camille a moment to realise what she’d said. Trying to hide her blush, she clarified, “I meant Danielle and I could go in my bed. You could sleep on the sofa.”

“Oh right,” he said, also whispering and clearly relieved. “Are you sure it’s not too inconvenient?”

“Oh it’s not inconvenient at all for me, but will you be able to sleep without your pyjamas?” She said teasingly.

He levelled her with a look that indicated he was not, in fact, amused, “I’ll be fine.”


	8. More Instinct, Less Thinking

They made it through the night without too many issues. Danielle did wake up distressed again, but with less screaming thank goodness. She had been desperate to check that Richard was ok, so the two had gone into the living room where he was sleeping soundly on the couch in his shirt sleeves. Danielle prodded him, and he looked really rather adorable, all drowsy as Camille explained that the girl wanted to check he was okay. Camille watched affectionately as he gathered Danielle up and gave her a brief hug. It seemed to Camille that these actions were probably because he was half asleep, so instinct drove him rather than reason, the display of emotion was rather uncharacteristic.

Over breakfast (banana sandwiches were replaced by the more traditional brioche) Camille asked, somewhat hesitantly, “I think it’s good for Danielle to have some stability at the moment, so, um, maybe we should carry on with both of us being around overnight?”

He was in the process of lifting a piece of brioche into his mouth, and at her question is hand came to a somewhat abrupt stop. Camille thought she was about to be told how inappropriate her idea was, but instead all Richard came out with was, “Okay.”

Danielle had finished breakfast and Camille was letting her watch TV again. This distraction allowed her to broach more difficult topics.

“I’ll take the next ferry to Guadeloupe, but what will you do with Danielle all day?”

“I can keep her entertained this morning, but there is work to do at the station that can’t be ignored really. I’m hoping I can find something to keep her relatively quiet whilst I get on with it,” Camille wasn’t sure taking the child to the police station was the best idea, and Richard must have seen the doubt in her face. “I won’t leave any details of her Mother’s murder lying about, don’t worry.”

“I didn’t think you would,” she told him, annoyed he would think she thought so little of him.

“Also, at some point we have to try and question her about what she saw that night, might as well try this afternoon. Though I’m oddly reluctant to put her through that,” he admitted.

“Why would your reluctance be ‘odd’?”

“I don’t know, if I wasn’t looking after her I probably wouldn’t have an issue with it. But this way round, I have to be the bad guy who reminds her of it all, then try to be the good guy who comforts her,” He shrugged, clearly not sure if he was making sense.

Camille gave him a small smile, “So you’ll be the pushover, then?”

He frowned, “What do you mean?”

“The one the kids go to when they want something, because you always let them have their way. Forcing m- uh, their mother to be the bad guy.” She prayed to God he hadn’t spotted the slip.

“Last week I probably wouldn’t have agreed with you, now however…”

Danielle ran into the kitchen, stole more brioche, and ran straight back out again. Then, seeming to remember her manners, dashed back in to shout “Thanks!” at the top of her voice before disappearing.

“God she moves fast,” Richard said, looking a little panicked.

“Yup, good luck.”

 

* * *

 

 

At the market, Danielle actually attached herself rather firmly to Richard’s leg. Perhaps she was nervous of the many, many, people that seemed to frequent the place no matter what time of day it was. Perhaps her mother had taught her to stay close in crowds, for fear of being separated. Either way, there was no way he was going to lose her, though the tightness with which she held on to him did rather restrict his movements. He had explained as best he could to the girl it was necessary for him to go into the station to do some very important work, but she would come with him. Before they went to the station they would go and buy her some things she could play at quietly whilst he worked.

Richard was a little taken aback by how eager the girl was to please. “I can do that!” she told him excitedly. “I know from being quiet when Mummy teaches.” He had hoped for as much, assuming it must be hard to teach violin if a small child constantly wanted your attention. He hadn’t had to heart to bring up her mother, but Danielle had done it herself, though using the wrong tense as the recently bereaved were all warrant to do.

They stopped at a stall that, judging from the toys and brightly coloured packages, catered largely for children. Richard didn’t need Camille’s skills at reading people when he saw the way Danielle looked at a pack of 288 crayons, her whole face lit up with excitement and it seemed pretty evident colouring was high on the girl’s list of preferred activities. Though he felt 288 different colours was a little excessive, who was he to stifle creativity in a child? The crayons were selected with a couple of colouring books and a pad of blank paper. Richard was a little disappointed when Danielle failed to show the same enthusiasm for the picture books he found, but then again he probably wouldn’t be able to read them in the appropriate manner anyway. He imagined putting on different voices was probably something best left to Camille.

Whilst encouraging Danielle to pick out some fruit to have with her lunch, Richard was surprised to look down to find a toddler had attached herself to his other leg, and was looking up grinning at him round her dummy. Richard recognised the child, and looked around to see a very harassed Juliet pushing her way over.

“Oh I’m sorry, Inspector, she saw you and pointed, and I said, yes Rosie we’ll go say hello, then I tried to pay for a pineapple and she let go of my hand and moved over her at a pace I’ve never seen her achieve before. I mean since she learnt to walk I’ve been sort of reluctant to put her on one of those child leashes you know, looks like you’re talking them out for a walk like you would a dog, but if she’s going to escape my grasp like that well I don’t have a choice it’s just not safe otherwise. Anyway, sorry to disturb you, she just loves you, you know. I think it might be your accent.” Inconceivably, Juliet said all of this without taking a breath.

“That’s ok,” he reassured her, still trying to process everything that had been said. A giggle drew his attention back to the two children he now possessed about his person, and he found Danielle making funny faces that Rosie clearly found entertaining. Richard reached down and picked up Rosie, in case something else distracted her and she made a run for it. The baby shouted “Bah!” and proceeded to begin to poke him repeatedly in the arm. He gave her a small smile and took her hand in his to distract her from the poking.

“How is it going?” Juliet asked, eyes flicking down to Danielle to indicate what she was really asking.

“Ok, um, we’ve bought some colouring stuff,” he told her, a little uncomfortable. Really, he’d like to confess he was worried he was messing everything up and did Juliet please have some advice, but couldn’t exactly admit that with Danielle standing there staring between the two of them. “Danielle, this is Juliet, and this here is Rosie.”

Danielle smiled politely and managed a little wave, both of which were returned by Juliet. The mother must have sensed something of Richard’s fears, because she said next, “You know I wouldn’t worry too much, you’re a bit of a natural actually, well…when you don’t think too much.”

That statement really didn’t make sense to Richard, and blunt person he was, he told Juliet so, “I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘don’t think too much’?”

Juliet looked like she wished she hadn’t said anything, as she painfully began to explain, “Well you know, like just now. You didn’t think about picking Rosie up, you sort of just knew that is what she wanted and also what would be best to stop her running off again! Then when she started prodding, you just grabbed her hand and let her play with that instead, which is much less distracting. You didn’t think about those things, you did them on instinct.”

“I like babies!” Danielle piped up suddenly.

“Rosie likes you, too,” Juliet told the girl. “And she has just started colouring, I bet you are _really_ good aren’t you?”

“I could draw you a picture,” Danielle suggested, rather shyly.

“That would be wonderful.”

Richard was not distracted by this interruption. Danielle fell silent, looking quite pleased by Juliet’s praise, and he took his opportunity to probe again.

“Are you saying _I_ _shouldn’t think_ about things?”

“No, I’m more saying you shouldn’t worry about things so much, because then you might do what you _think_ is right instead of what _is_ right.” Juliet bit her lip. “Look, I think everything came out wrong, I’m not very good at this. Just, honestly, I think you’re much better with children then you think you are. Honestly, Rosie learns a new word every time she sees you because she loves listening to you.”

In a moment that you couldn’t make up, Rosie spat her dummy out (snatched from mid-air in a well-practised move by Juliet) and practically bellowed “THINK!” Well, something more akin to ‘fink’, as she hadn’t quite managed the ‘th’ sound. Still, Richard would admit to be impressed.

“There we go, a live example,” Rosie seemed to suddenly remember her mother was there, and held out her arms to indicate her desire to be returned to her. Juliet took the baby and said, “We better get you home before you toddle off somewhere else without permission!”

“Right, yeah, see you soon, Juliet.”

 

* * *

 

 

Winding her way back towards her home, Juliet very nearly paused to bang her head repeatedly against a tree trunk. What had she been _thinking_ , or perhaps the problem was she hadn’t. Or it could be being alone with the baby all day, perhaps she was getting starved of adult conversation. Though that was a little unfair to Fidel, mind he loved her enough to forgive her quirks. She had meant well, she really had, but the man had a tendency to put himself down when it came to his relationships with other people. The first time he’d looked after Rosie, he’d informed Juliet he was sure it was a worse experience for the baby than it was for him. But Rosie did genuinely seem to like him for reasons clear to her childish mind, whenever she spotted Richard she was always delighted. Whatever he was doing during the few other occasions he had babysat was clearly working.

The problem was, when she’d tried to come up with an example of a time he’d overthought a situation instead of acting on instinct, she could only think of one example. It was the sort of example you _do not_ give to your husband’s boss, the sort of example that probably didn’t seem very appropriate given the context of the conversation even though it was probably what deep down had driven her to make the comment in the first place. And that example’s name was Camille.

She had watched, on several occasions, Camille flirt with or otherwise try to encourage the Inspector. Juliet felt she was rather good at reading people, and she’d watch with no small amount of frustration, as he _overthought_ everything and somehow, impossibly, came to the entirely wrong conclusion. He clearly didn’t think he was good enough for Camille, even though Camille had clearly decided that wasn’t true. Juliet had silently willed Camille just to make the first move (one that would have to leave him with no doubt of her desires), but the woman was not entirely secure enough in herself to do that. All Camille needed, Juliet was sure, was just a single ounce of encouragement from the Inspector. Juliet had become so frustrated that she had begged Fidel to help her come up with some scheme to get the two of them together, but he had asked her to leave them to sort things out at their own pace.

When Juliet had seen the worry in his eyes when she had asked him how things were going, she felt like she was seeing him draw similar conclusions about fatherhood as he did about Camille. He probably thought he wasn’t cut out to be a father, or that he had left things too late now. Perhaps he was concerned he was going to mess everything up. But Juliet knew that he had all the right instincts, he just didn’t always have the confidence to act on them.

She sighed so dramatically Rosie looked at her a little alarmed, so she gave her daughter a reassuring smile. Perhaps she’d ask Fidel about that scheme again…


	9. Marrying off Camille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps this chapter is not accurate in the slightest….good thing it’s fiction. It was difficult to write.

“Right, Danielle, you remember Dwayne don’t you? And this is Fidel, he also works here. His wife and daughter and Juliet and Rosie who we just met.” Richard explained, trying to hide the fact that he was out of breath from racing Danielle up the steps. He had intended to make sure the girl won the competition, apparently having stored a fact away at some point that that was the done thing, but it turned out not to be an issue. She was at least twice as fast as he was, despite her legs being much smaller.

Danielle waved to Dwayne, who returned it with a grin. Fidel came out from behind his desk and crouched in front of the child, offering a hand, a winning smile and the words, “It’s very nice to meet you, Danielle.” Danielle developed a sudden shyness, but did take Fidel’s hand tentatively.

“Is everything ok, here?” Richard asked, whilst mentally trying to decide where to set Danielle up with her colouring things.

“Fine, Sir, there are some DNA results on your desk, Camille called them in, they were as you suspected. Said she’s looking into it further,” Fidel didn’t need to specify the fact he was talking about the DNA results from Marie Labelle’s killing. It saddened him that the death of her mother had come at the hands of Danielle’s father, but it did not surprise him.

“No new cases?” he enquired.

“Just some minor vandalism on some parked cars near one of the schools, probably bored kids, and the school said they’d look into it as well,” Fidel confirmed.

Before Richard could ask if they’d made any progress on a missing person case pushed their way by Guadeloupe, he felt Danielle tugging on his hand, presumably to gain his attention.

“What are they,” she said, pointing at the wanted posters on the notice board.

“They are pictures of people the police want to catch. We put them up so the public can call us up if they see them, ok?” She seemed satisfied by that explanation. “Do you want to do some colouring now?”

Danielle nodded. Richard decided that even though Camille’s desk wasn’t being used today, he didn’t want to risk Danielle looking in draws when he was distracted and finding something she shouldn’t. Instead he set her up on the floor in front of his desk, which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She ignored the colouring books and selected the pad of A3 blank paper he had bought, and Richard watched in amusement as a look of great concentration came over her face. Well, she certainly looked appropriately occupied.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a good hour before Danielle came round to get his attention. This was double the estimate Richard had thought he might get. She had brought a picture she had drawn over, and Richard sighed inwardly as he remembered her earlier attempt at Harry. This time he didn’t have Eleanor to rescue him with an explanation of what he was supposed to be looking at. However the layout of the picture placed in his hands was familiar. Danielle clearly hadn’t known what the words were on the wanted posted, so had just done some scribbles above her portrait.

“Did you draw a wanted posted, Danielle?” Now Richard looked at her closely, he could see she seemed quite upset.

“To help you catch the man who took Mummy away,” she managed. Fidel was looking saddened, Dwayne looked more serious than Richard thought he had ever seen him. Over Danielle’s head he mouthed the word “tape recorder” which Dwayne dutifully retrieved from his desk and passed to Fidel to set up.

“This is very helpful to us, Danielle,” Richard told her gently, and he wasn’t having to lie either. Despite Danielle having more enthusiasm than talent, the picture if accurate was informative. Since the DNA results confirmed Ms Labelle was killed by Danielle’s father, the suspect being Black was not exactly a surprise. But Danielle had also drawn the man without hair, and what also might be an earring in one ear. “It would be good, Danielle, if you could answer some questions for me about this man. Do you think you could do that?”

Danielle looked at him miserably, “I don’t like thinking about it.”

“I know, I wish you didn’t have to, but it would be very helpful if you could be very brave and try.”

She nodded, though was still near tears. Richard spent the next 15 minutes gently teasing facts from her, confirming his impression of the man in her picture being bold with an earring. Danielle had been instructed to hide by her mother, but had snuck downstairs and had a peek. She’d come down again after it had been quiet for some time, tried to rouse her mother but failed, got scared and went to hide again until she had been found by Dwayne and he the next day.

“I’m sorry,” Richard told her sincerely, when he had asked everything he could think of.

“Why, what did you do?” Danielle asked, seemingly confused by the display of sympathy.

“It’s what you say, when somebody dies. It means you wish it hadn’t happened, because it shouldn’t have happened.”

She nodded her comprehension, then asked, “Was I helpful?”

“Really, really helpful,” he told her. “Do you want to do something different now? We could go for a walk?” It was Richard’s attempt to find a distraction from what she had just gone through, sending her back to colouring didn’t feel right even if he hadn’t finished all the work he needed to do. However a distraction chose to arrive through the door at that moment, in the form of Dom McLachlan from the play group.

“Knock, knock,” he said, as he came in the door. Danielle’s face lit up at the sight of him, and she squealed “Dom!” in delight before running into his open arms to embrace him. She giggled when he picked her up and hung her upside down briefly. Richard felt an emotion that he thought might actually be jealousy for a moment, before he pushed it aside as unprofessional.

“Mr McLachlan,” Richard greeted him. “Can I help?”

“I came to bring Danielle something,” he said, smiling down at the girl. “I know at story time Danielle loves it when we read _The Story of Peppa Pig,_ and since she missed story time yesterday I thought she might like _her very own copy_!” he pulled the book from behind his back like a magician might pull a rabbit out of a hat, and Danielle certainly seemed as delighted as a child at a magic show. Earlier she’d shown no interest in books, Richard felt he should try to review where he went wrong later.

“Will you read it to me please?” Danielle asked in a rush. Dom glanced at Richard, who happened to be frowning not at the concept but because he was still trying to figure out why Danielle hadn’t wanted any of the books he offered. Dom interpreted his look as disapproval though.

“Well maybe not in here, Danielle, these nice police officers are trying to work, but perhaps Inspector Poole would let me read to you out on the porch? It’d be nice to sit in the sun, wouldn’t it?”

Now Richard _was_ frowning at the concept, “I’m her legal guardian, I’m not sure I should really let her out of my sight…” He tailed off, it _did_ seem a bit paranoid when he said it out loud.

“Well, we’ll just be on the bench outside and I’m sure you will be able to hear us, plus I can present my full CRB check,” Dom told him in the same cheerful tone.

“No, sorry,” Richard apologised to him, though he actually addressed the desk since he was a little embarrassed by his behaviour. “Please, I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.”

Dom led Danielle out by the hand. Despite his words, Richard still shifted his chair a little to the left, which allowed him to glimpse Danielle’s feet swinging happily from the bench if he lent over. Fidel gave him a somewhat conspiratorial smile, perhaps as a father he too had experienced slightly paranoid delusions about the safety of his child and understood Richard’s anxiety. Dom must have read the story to Danielle at least twice, because they were out there for some time. When they did come back in Danielle was practically hanging off the playgroup leaders arm.

“I’m sorry Danielle I do have to go now, have you got your book safe?” She nodded, holding it up to demonstrate. “Ok, hopefully I will see you soon. Goodbye.”

“Bye Dom!”

Before Richard could enquire as to what Danielle wished to do next, she began to practise what vaguely looked like ballet positions in the middle of the station, and seemed happy enough doing. She was humming quietly, but not enough to disturb him.

A few moments later, she declared, “I like Dom! He’s nice!”

“That’s good,” Richard replied, trying to keep the frustration he felt, and didn’t quite understand, out of his tone.

“I wanted him to marry Mummy and be my Daddy but he is already married, so he said he can’t,” Danielle informed them all.

“He’s right, that would be bigamy and illegal,” Richard told her, glancing up from the paperwork.

Danielle froze in the middle of the pirouette she had been attempted to stare at him blankly, “What’s big-gamey?”

“Bigamy. It is the law in some places, including here, that a man can be only be married to one woman – and a woman can only marry one man. So because Dom is married to Daisy he can’t get married to anybody else or he’d go to jail,” Richard explained patiently.

Danielle’s reaction was to turn suddenly and point at Fidel, “You’re married as well?” She asked.

“Yes, I am, to Juliet.” Fidel replied with a smile.

“Are you married?” She next asked Dwayne.

“Oh no, little lady, there is no way I’m letting a woman tie me down,” he told her cheerfully. “Well not like _that_ anyway,” Dwayne added with a little smirk. Danielle seemed confused by this last addition, frowning and asking Dwayne, “Why would a woman tie you up?”

Richard imagined he looked as horrified as Dwayne did at Danielle’s question. They were both saved by Fidel, whose experience at circumventing difficult questions came more from his experience in babysitting younger cousins, saved them both.

“Tied down is just an expression that means get married, Danielle. Some people don’t want to get married, like Dwayne.”

Luckily Danielle seemed satisfied with this answer, turning her attention (as he had been expecting, and somewhat dreading) to Richard, “Are you married?”

“No.” He prayed the next question wasn’t why. Luckily it was, “Is Camille married?” Richard also provided a negative answer.

“So Camille can’t marry Fidel because that would be, um, big-gamey,” This time Richard decided not to correct her, it was pretty close anyway. “But she could marry Richard or Dwayne!”

“Ah, but I don’t want to get married, remember?” Dwayne reminded her cheekily.

“So Camille can marry Richard then,” Dwayne and Fidel smirked and nodded in agreement. Richard would have glared at them, but he was remembering something that the child psychologist said.

“Why are you obsessed with marrying off Camille?” He asked the girl, surprising both Dwayne and Fidel who were hoping for an awkward explanation of why he wouldn’t be marrying the Detective Sergeant.

“I want to go to a wedding,” she told him, as if it was obvious.

“Have you never been to a wedding before?”

“No,” she said sadly. “I was going to, and I was going to be the flower girl, and get to wear a special dress. But now I don’t think I can because who will take me on the boat to get the dress?”

“The boat? You were getting the dress from Guadeloupe?” Richard tried not to sound too excited. You didn’t just ask _anybody’s_ child to be your flower girl. Or at least he didn’t think you would, as technically he had no experience in that area.

“Yes, that is where Emilie is, and where the wedding is.”

“Who’s Emilie?”

“She’s nice. She comes to visit, and sometimes we go on the boat and see her. Do you think I’ll get to see her again?”

Richard was flicking through the address book, found an entry for Emilie Beauchamp whose address indicated she did live in Guadeloupe, “Oh I’m sure we can work that out, Danielle. Um, Danielle, what did Emilie call your Mum?”

Danielle gave him a look that indicated she thought he might be a bit mental, “Marie.” Right, no help there confirming this Emilie Beauchamp was a relative then.

Fidel must have caught on to his line of thinking, because he asked Danielle, “Can you remember what she called your Granny?”

Danielle screwed up her face in concentration, “Aunty, I think.”

Richard raised an eyebrow at Fidel, who gave a little shrug, “Round here people do use Aunty as a form of address for older women. Doesn’t mean they were related, sorry Sir.”

Danielle interrupted Richard’s contemplation with the question, “If you marry Camille, can I be the flower girl at your wedding as well?”

Naturally, Camille chose this moment to walk back into the station. 


	10. Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to start drawing this to a close. More warnings for discussions of rape.

“Why am I marrying Richard?” Camille asked, quite calmly considering.

Richard hurried to explain before Dwayne and Fidel could say something more embarrassing, “Uh, Well Danielle expressed a desire to, you know, go to a wedding. Unfortunately for you she now understands the concept of bigamy and since the pool of single individuals she knows is limited, she, you know...” He trailed off awkwardly, but Camille just smiled and changed the subject.

“Did you have a good day Danielle?” Camille asked brightly, putting her bag down on her desk.

As Danielle rambled on about her day, Richard quietly asked Camille to keep an eye on her whilst he stepped outside to make a phone call that could change somebody’s life.

 

* * *

 

 

Luckily for Richard, when he introduced himself to Emilie Beauchamp and asked if she knew Marie Labelle, her response was, “Yes, she is my cousin. Oh God, is she ok? Has there been an accident?”

Richard then delivered the news as sympathetically as he could, but it was still some time before Emilie was composed enough to carry on the conversation, “Where is Danielle?”

“She is currently in the care of a fosterer,” Richard told her calmly. He didn’t feel right telling her it was him at the moment. “Can you tell me if there were any arrangements made by Marie for Danielle should anything happen to her?”

“Yes, of course, she had a will. It is in storage at the office, I’m a lawyer you see and the partnership I work for helped Marie write it. I become Danielle’s guardian in the event of anything happening,” She explained tearfully. “I need to get over there but, _God_ , I’m on St Lucia you see for some meetings. I’m supposed to go back to Guadeloupe tomorrow...”

“Ma’am, Danielle is fine at the moment. If you can’t make it until tomorrow she’ll just stay with them for another night. I will explain to her personally that you are coming to see her tomorrow; I know she’ll be pleased to see you. She told me all about how she was excited to be your flower girl. If you could bring Ms LaBelle’s will as well? I am sure you can understand how we need to be sure of her wishes.”

After a few more exchanges, they had finalised Miss Beauchamps arrival to the island the next day. She’d be there in the afternoon; Eleanor Patterson would meet her and examine the will, and if all was well then they’d bring her to see Danielle. Richard felt it would be best that she explain to Danielle that the girl would be coming to live with her.

 

* * *

 

 

When he came back, Camille was sitting on the floor colouring with Danielle. She rose when Richard entered and asked, “So your place or mine?”

“Oh well, whatever if more convenient for you really,” Richard said casually.

“Well, I do prefer my own bed,” Camille said. “Plus even with all the boxes I think there is more room.”

Richard nodded his ascent, then realised he and Camille were being watched. Both Dwayne and Fidel were watching the pair of them open mouthed, apparently shocked into silence. Richard did a quick mental review of the conversation he and Camille (who was gathering up all of Danielle’s things) had just had, and then realised how it could have been misconstrued.

“I’ll be on the sofa!” He cried out suddenly, desperate to correct them. Camille shot him an amused look, and to his surprise Dwayne and Fidel looked rather disappointed by his explanation.

“Goodnight guys,” Camille told them, holding onto Danielle with one hand and all her stuff over her other shoulder. Richard politely relieved her of the bags, and Danielle decided she wanted to hold his hand as well. When Richard glanced back to say goodbye to his colleagues he discovered they were grinning again. Richard found their behaviour very strange.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille quickly settled Danielle down in front of the TV again, with a bowl of mango as a snack until dinner was ready. She then dragged Richard off into the Kitchen (he was happy not to be subjected to more _Dora the Explorer_ ) to tell him what she had found out that day – albeit whilst constantly glancing through the door to ensure Danielle was not listening.

“You got the DNA results you wanted?” She asked, and Richard just nodded. “Yeah, well I’ve got some more for you.”

She passed a file, he opened to find a mug shot staring back at him – a bald man, with an earring and an extremely displeased look stared back at him. According to the file his name was Stephen Pierce. Camille explained further, “Five years ago, Marie LaBelle approached the police in Guadeloupe and accused this man of raping her. They didn’t get any physical evidence, it had been a few days since the attack and she had showered.”

“Not unusual for rape victims,” Richard muttered.

“No, and given the fact the police already knew this individual as rather violent the police didn’t doubt her testimony. They pulled in Pierce for questioning, started gathering evidence, were quite close to having enough to try him when Marie comes in and says she doesn’t want to press charges – withdraws her claim. They couldn’t convince her otherwise. They knew without her testimony going further would be useless.”

Richard let out a breath, “She realised she was pregnant. Didn’t want to testify, because then Pierce might have found out about the baby. So instead she packs up and comes to Saint Marie to escape him.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” she agreed. “Shortly after Marie left though, Pierce was arrested for an assault and has spent four years in jail. As a consequence his DNA is on file, it was compared to that at the scene – and it was a match.”

“So we know who our killer is, we just have to hunt them down.” Richard let out a sigh, glancing back at Danielle.

“Well he is on the passenger list for the ferry to Guadeloupe the day after he killed Marie. They are trying to hunt him down. The officer I was talking to knows what he is like, so I know they are taking it seriously,” Camille told him confidently, and then added, “Though I wish I could be the one to slap on the cuffs.”

“Hmm,” Richard responded thoughtfully, inclined to agree with the sentiment

“When I spoke to Fidel from Guadeloupe earlier he mentioned how you’d sent him back over to the scene to look for documents that might lead to potential guardians for Danielle, but he came up empty.” She paused long enough for Richard to acknowledge that with a brief nod of his head, but not long enough for him to fill her in on the latest developments. “Maybe we should start considering long term plans for Danielle. I mean have you thought about, um, keeping her?”

“What?” he shouted, volume of his exclamation surprising even him.

From the other room, Danielle shouted, “You should say pardon, not what.” Once again proving she had been raised with good manners.

“Sorry,” Richard called back – actually the only thing he could think of to say.

“Why do you object to the idea so much? I mean she clearly likes you, and don’t think you can pretend you aren’t fond of her,” Camille said, exasperation evident in her tone.

“I might be fond of her, yes, but clearly you are the one who has gotten too attached to her,” he protested. “It would be entirely inappropriate for me to talk long term care of a child – the job simply doesn’t allow for it.”

“Plenty of police officers have families,” Camille said dismissively.

“Yeah well this police officer isn’t going to be one of them,” he said firmly, and for a moment her face registered something between shock and disappointment before she schooled her features into something more neutral. “Besides, we actually have located a relative. Danielle’s first cousin once removed, she is a lawyer whose firm also hold a copy of Marie LaBelle’s will. She’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, with the necessary documents, and if all is well Danielle will be handed over into her care.”

“Oh,” was all Camille initially came out with. “Right, well, yes that would be best I suppose. I better make dinner.” The way she phrased that last bit was a dismissal, Richard was sure. He opened his mouth but she pre-empted his offer of help by saying, “It’s ok, go play with Danielle. You’ll only get in my way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille chopped okra and thought about what an idiot she was. She also thought that Richard probably didn’t like okra and she would have to lie about its inclusion in the meal, but mostly she thought about what an idiot she was. Over the past few days she’d seen this entirely new side to him, something she’d only caught glimpses of in the past, and she liked it. She wanted to see more of it, she wanted to be part of it. She stupidly, stupidly, stupidly started imagining scenarios _that were not going to happen_. She had let the game of playing house get to her, she had been an idiot.

_Well this police officer isn’t going to be one of them._ That was a final sentence if ever Camille had heard one. Earlier he’d claimed that if he was going to have children he just would have by now, but that sentence – that indicated to Camille he didn’t really have an interest in having a family anyway. She stared aggressively at the pan as she waited for it to boil, and tried to convince herself that this was not going to cause her any pain.

She was _such_ an idiot.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard made no complaint about the ‘foreign’ vegetables in his dinner; Camille thought he might be picking up on her mood. They were both quite subdued, with Danielle obliviously chattering away. Camille was grateful the subject of weddings didn’t come up again.

“Will you read me my _Dora_ book?” She asked later, as Camille was trying to convince her to get ready for bed.

“I will, but only if you go and put your pyjama’s on!” Danielle agreed to those conditions, and skipped off to get changed. Camille turned and found Richard was frowning. “What?”

“Oh sorry, it’s just earlier I tried to get her to pick out some books at the market and she wasn’t interested but she is mad for that _Dora_ one. I just can’t figure out what I was doing wrong, been bugging me half the afternoon.”

Camille felt a surge of affection towards him, it was sweet of him to worry so – to care about getting it right. Then she remembered the stern lecture she had given herself earlier and pushed her feelings aside. Still, it would do no harm to help him figure it out.

“Well, maybe her taste in books is very narrow. What kind of books were you looking at?”

“Usborne beginner science books - I had them all when I was her age,” he said this with a little note of pride.

Camille managed to keep the thoughtful expression plastered on her face for all of 5 seconds before she burst into a fit of giggles. He glowered at her, and eventually she was able to explain, “Richard, it comes as no surprise to me that a little girl is more interested in _Dora the Explorer_ then books about the solar system or chemicals or whatever they are about.”

Richard looked a little abashed, “Yeah, I suppose your right. Most four year olds are not going to be like I was at that age. And I think we both know that’s probably a very good thing.”

He shot her a half smile which caused a familiar warm feeling in the pit of her stomach which she refused to interpret the meaning of. She couldn’t help but return his smile though.

Oh God, she was _always_ going to be an idiot when it came to him. 


	11. Unconventional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure where large sections of this chapter came from. Also I do hope that I am not the only one who enjoys pushing down on a French Press a little too much.

 

Richard’s alarm clock proved to be Danielle jumping rather forcefully on top of him and squealing something about it being time to get up. It certainly didn’t feel like it was time to get up. He assumed the early awakening was Camille’s revenge, when Danielle had been settled down for bed Richard had gone in to say goodnight and then told the girl about how Emilie was coming to see her the next day. Danielle was naturally overjoyed, and chose to express this joy by getting up and bouncing energetically about. Camille, who had left to get a glass of water, was horrified from the change from calm and sleepy girl to a veritable maniac and had not been best pleased with him for getting her so worked up before bed. It had taken them a good couple of hours to calm her down enough to sleep. In fact, given that she went to bed so late, Richard could not understand how she was so bloody chipper now.

“Get up! Get up! Now is the time for getting up!” Danielle was half singing as she bounced off him and over to the curtains to throw them open.

He threw an arm over his eyes to block the sudden assault on his senses from the light. “No, now is the time for sleeping.” Richard explained, in what he thought was a remarkably restrained tone of voice.

“Nope! I asked Camille and she said I could get you up now!” Ah, so it was revenge. Richard grumbled to himself about her lack of professionalism as Danielle clambered back onto the sofa with him.

“And where is Detective Sergeant Bordey?” He asked in a long-suffering tone, moving him arm enough to glance at Danielle’s smiling face. She was an unconventional alarm clock, but Richard thought there were probably worse ways to be woken up.

Danielle screwed her face up in confusion, “Who?”

“Camille, where is Camille?”

“Why did you call her that other name?” Danielle asked, curious as ever.

If Richard was sure it was too early to get up, than it was definitely too early to explain the police service ranking system to a four year old, but he also knew he was unlikely to be able to fob her off.

“That is Camille’s title at work. It is how she should be addressed when she is being a police officer,” he attempted.

“But she isn’t being a police officer right now,” Danielle helpfully reminded him.

Richard sighed and conceded to her point, “Yes, I know, it was very silly of me. Where is she by the way?”

“She is still in bed. She told me to tell you when I woke you up black, one sugar.” Danielle giggled, clearly aware on some level of the bloody cheek of the message she was passing on. Richard was tempted to send her back with a message reminding Camille who had seniority, but he wasn’t sure in this particular endeavour if he _was_ the one in charge. He rather suspected Danielle was.

 

* * *

 

 

A little while later Richard found himself squinting at the French Press box and trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head that said he might need glasses. Danielle was sitting at the table, humming something that sounded a lot like The Wedding March and looking at her _Dora_ book. He had found the coffee and the device and then realised he wasn’t 100% sure on how to use one, but luckily he spotted the box in a nearby pile of cardboard for recycling.

“Are you _actually_ reading the instructions?” The incredulous voice belonged to Camille, who had clearly decided to drag herself from bed. Perhaps he was taking too long with the coffee. Having ascertained he had definitely steeped the coffee for long enough, he pushed down the plunger slowly and discovered it to be a rather satisfying feeling. He wouldn’t mind making coffee for her every morning if he got to do that…Wait, where did _that_ come from?

Mentally berating himself for letting his thoughts drift where they shouldn’t, Richard replied to Camille as he poured the coffee for her, “I haven’t actually had to use one before. I am still amazed the station hasn’t got LCD screens but does own a percolator. In Croydon we made do with instant or whatever sludge the vending machine dispensed.”

“You’re lucky you even found the box,” she explained as she accepted the cup off him. “I had to buy a new one because my original broke during the move.” She paused to sip the coffee, and Richard did his best to not to look too keen for her assessment. He wasn’t sure what to think when she actually looked puzzled, a small frown on her face as she reached to take the box from him. “Mmm, this is good, better than I make it. Maybe _I_ should read the instructions…”

He relaxed, clapping his hands together and nervously joking, “Ah well, perhaps with my new coffee and banana sandwich making skills there is hope to domesticate me after all.”

Camille gave him a small smile, “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. As I said earlier I am currently the only one stopping her from setting you up with every lonely forty odd woman who comes into her bar.”

Richard looked at her in alarm, “Actually, you didn’t specify _what_ you’d been talking her out of.”

“She thinks a holiday romance would do you good, but I convinced her you wouldn’t be interested in a fling. If she hears you talking about being domesticated she’ll redouble her efforts and start hunting down suitable women on the island,” Camille elaborated. Richard frowned, it was true that he _wasn’t_ interested in a fling, but he had to wonder why Camille would interfere on his behalf. Was she just trying to save him embarrassment, or was there something else going on? Perhaps she was trying to save other women the horror of having to spend time with him?

 

* * *

 

 

Richard was frowning, which caused Camille to panic slightly. Was he actually upset with her for running interference with her mother? If asked, she would say she was doing it to save him embarrassment, but she also knew deep down she really didn’t like the idea of having to see him with another woman. Oh _God_ she had been selfish, hadn’t she? Denied him to opportunity to spend time with what were probably perfectly lovely women, many of whom were English holiday makers and probably, no matter what he said about not having one, exactly his type. Avoiding his gaze by rummaging in the cupboards for stuff to make breakfast with, she asked as casually as possible, “Sorry, did I presume too much? I could always let _Maman_ know you _are_ interested. I think she might be considering trying to set you up with Gail Dickinson.”

Richard spluttered on his coffee, “ _God no_!” he said vehemently. “Her waist measurement is higher than her IQ.” This outburst was enough to attract Danielle’s attention, who had stopped humming and was now watching them curiously. Richard looked a little embarrassed.

Camille frowned. “Gail has a tiny waist,” she pointed out.

“That was rather my point,” he said quickly, clearly wishing the conversation would end.

“I’ll let _Maman_ know she is not your type. Though if you were willing to admit what your type was, then when I finally fail to prevent her interference any longer the whole experience will probably be a lot more pleasant for you.” She was teasing him now - she couldn’t help it - she just found it so _cute_ when he actually blushed.

“Type of what?” Danielle piped up. The dirty look she received from Richard indicated that she was very much expected to field an answer to that question.

“When people talking about their type they are referring to the sort of person they would like to fall in love with and marry,” Camille explained. She hoped she was being clear.

Danielle then surprised both of them by replying, “I thought you couldn’t help who you fell in love with.” It was a rather deep thing for a four year old to say, and Camille was certainly curious about where she would have picked up such a thing. However before she could ask where Danielle got such an idea, Richard decided to surprise her even more.

“You can’t,” he told Danielle sincerely. “And you know sometimes people, um, do fall in love with the wrong person – somebody who isn’t really right for them and won’t really make them happy. But that isn’t everyone, and it doesn’t mean people don’t have a sort of, uh, list of characteristics that if they met somebody who was like that they would want to get to know them and would thus be more likely to fall in love with them.” The last bit was said in a bit of a rush, as he realised he had strayed into dangerous territory.

Danielle considered his answer for a bit (as did Camille) before turning towards her and asking rather firmly, “What’s your type?”

“Yes, Camille, why don’t you tell Danielle about your type whilst I make breakfast,” Richard was clearly desperate to extract himself from the conversation.

Camille shot him a look to indicate she was not amused, then sat down at the table with Danielle, “Well I like somebody who makes me laugh, that’s very important.” Camille tried to hide her smile when she realised Richard was only pretending not to be listening. Perhaps now would be another good opportunity to drop a few hints. “And also I like somebody who is smart, and knows about lots of things, because then you can have interesting conversations. And somebody who surprises you, does things, kind things that maybe they aren’t _really_ supposed to or maybe they don’t _really_ want to do, but they do anyway because it makes you happy. I really, um, appreciate that in somebody.” Her last statement was clearly a bit too cryptic for Danielle, who was looking puzzled. To Camille’s amusement though, she decided to direct her next question elsewhere.

“What’s your type, Richard?”

Camille smirked as Richard’s hand froze as he was reaching for a pot of jam. It was this he addressed as he answered Danielle, “I don’t have a type.”

“Does that mean Camille is your type?” Danielle pressed.

The jam very nearly slipped from his grasp, a reaction Camille noted with a certain interest. Richard took a deep breath, turned around and asked in a slightly alarmed tone, “Why would you ask that?”

“Because if you don’t have a type, doesn’t that mean you like all ladies equally?”

“No, no it doesn’t,” he said, looking relieved. Had he perhaps expected Danielle to have other reasons why she thought Camille would be his type?

“So you don’t like any ladies?”

“No, no it doesn’t mean that either,” he hurried to deny. Camille thought this might have been the most fun she’d had in some time.

Danielle had crossed her arms, and gave a huff of frustration, “Well what _does_ it mean then?”

Richard, being nervous, began to gesticulate a little more forcefully than usual, “Well, um, just because I can’t, you know, come up with a list of characteristics off the top of my head it doesn’t, um, mean that _every_ woman or _no_ woman are my type it just means that I, um, I’m not exactly sure of what my type is.”

“You should find out,” Danielle told him seriously. “I’ve decided my type are boys who like _Dora the Explorer_. It would also be good if they liked _Peppa pig_ but that isn’t necessary.” After another moments thought she asked, “If Camille turns out to be your type and you get married, can I come to your wedding?”

“Yes,” Camille answered for Richard, to save him further embarrassment. “But only if you go get washed and dressed! Then I’ll come help you with your hair, ok?”

Danielle ran off to do as she was told, and Camille turned to Richard, smiling. He shook his head at her and said, “If she starts calling me up every week to ask if we’re getting married I am holding you responsible.”

“Kids always forget these things,” she dismissed. “Did you see the way she crossed her arms and huffed?”

Richard nodded, but she could tell from the look on his face he didn’t know what she was getting at. “She has picked that up from you! You’ve only had her three days and she can already imitate you!” She explained.

“I do not do that!” he protested, though unfortunately for his argument he crossed his arms to do so. He saw Camille glance down and grin, then conceded, “I don’t do it _that_ much!”

“You do it at least three times a day,” Camille pointed out.

He clearly knew she was right, so didn’t bother to argue any further. Instead he said, “Well then let us be glad Danielle is leaving my care before she picks up any more of my bad habits. The last thing this island, this planet, needs is a miniature female version of me.”

“A child could learn a lot of good things from you as well, Richard,” she said gently. He looked at her briefly, then looked away - replying to her statement with a shrug. He clearly didn’t believe her. “I mean it. Your kitchen skills aren’t the only area you’ve shown domestic potential in. You’ve done a really good job. I know that you weren’t that keen to take her on but you did and you really cared about getting it right. I’m proud of you.”

He continued to examine the floor, than eventually muttered, “Thanks. You really helped loads though.”

“I think any kid would be lucky to have you as a father,” she continued to push gently. “Sort of a shame you don’t want children.”

He shrugged again, “Well, it’s not like I’m adverse to the idea of them it’s just like I said, I think it would have happened by now.”

“You’re right about a lot Richard, but you aren’t right all the time.”

He managed to glance up at her, “I wouldn’t mind being wrong this time either.”

Camille decided there was hope for them after all.

 

* * *

 

 

They took Danielle to a playground quite near the port, and sat back to watch her use up some of her boundless energy. She kept shouting at them to make sure they were watching, apparently keen to impress them with her acrobatic abilities. Richard kept cringing, convinced she was going to fall off and break something, and Camille had lectured him about being over protective.

“Well if we have to hand her over to her new guardian with a broken arm, you can do the explaining then!” It was evident from her face that Camille thought that was unlikely but she must have decided not to argue her point any further. She couldn’t have even she wanted to, because Richard got a call just then that he walked away to take. He came back a few minutes later looking serious, and Camille looked like she knew what he was going to say.

“He’s in custody. The Commissioner has started the proceedings to have him transferred over. Though he hasn’t volunteered me for that task this time, can’t think why,” he told her. She spared him a small smile for his joke.

“Well, killer caught, guardian found for Danielle, guess it really is over,” she sighed.

“Speaking of guardians,” Richard nodded towards the other side of the playground, where Eleanor Pattison and the woman Richard assumed to be Emilie were approaching. Danielle spotted Emilie from the top of the cargo net she had climbed and jumped down with a squeal of excitement, running straight into the woman’s arms and then dragging her over.

“This is Emilie! Emilie this is Richard and Camille, they have been looking after me. I am going to be Emilie’s flower girl!” She told them excitedly.

“Brilliant!” Camille told Danielle, then accepted Emilie’s offer of a hand.

“Uh, Danielle, why don’t you show Emilie how you can climb up the slide backwards?” Richard suggested, and Danielle went off to enthusiastically do just that. Eleanor instinctively knew Richard was after a moment alone with Emilie, so kept Danielle over there by asking her questions about what sort of dress she was going to wear to the wedding.

“I didn’t realise you were the one looking after Danielle, thank you so much,” Richard was more than a little embarrassed by her gratitude, so waved a hand in dismissal and then proceeded to update her on the killing of her cousin.

“The man who killed Marie was identified via physical evidence he left at the scene, and has since been arrested on Guadeloupe. He’ll be transferred here for trial. The evidence is pretty water-tight, I’m confident of a conviction. I haven’t told Danielle yet, I only got the call moments before your arrival, perhaps it would be better coming from you.” His tone was professional, which was good, because he was starting to feel some anxiety that he hadn’t actually been expecting.

“Well yes, of course, there is so much I need to explain to her.” Emilie looked a little overwhelmed, he supposed that was to be expected. This was a rather unconventional way to find yourself a parent.

“Well perhaps you could take Danielle to lunch and get started. Detective Sergeant Bordey and I are required back at the station shortly.” He stood up, getting ready to go. Camille was giving him a funny look, the sort that he would normally interpret as a hint that he might be getting things wrong. But if she suspected he would be anything other than professional now she was wrong, it wouldn’t be fair to let Miss Beauchamp sense any of his own feelings regarding parting with Danielle. Not that he had any particularly strong feelings.

“Of course, yes, I will do that. Then I’ll bring her to the station to say goodbye to you.”

Richard paused from gathering his jacket, he had been surprised by the sudden shock of emotion he had felt when Emilie said the word goodbye. He forced his face into a more neutral expression and thanked her.

 

* * *

 

 

When they were in the jeep, Richard held up a hand when Camille opened her mouth to prevent her from berating him for his behaviour, “I wasn’t being insensitive, I was just being professional, so don’t lecture me.”

He expected Camille to huff with indignation, start the jeep and drive back to the station in sulky silence - but she did none of those things. Instead she gave a small sigh and told him gently, “I wasn’t going to say that Richard.”

“Oh right,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed by his incorrect presumption. “Sorry.”

“I was going to say that I knew what you were doing back there, acting all detached and professional. You don’t want Emilie to feel like it’s painful for you to have to part with Danielle, even though maybe it is. It’s also why I didn’t say so much.” Now Richard really looked at her, Camille did look a little sad. “I just wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to pretend when it was just us.”

Richard wasn’t able to form a reply, so Camille just started the vehicle and they drove back to the station in silence after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille noticed the concerned looks Fidel and Dwayne were sometimes shooting their boss (and when they thought she wasn’t looking, herself) but neither of them said anything. That was actually probably a very sensible thing. Time ticked on, and Camille began to worry that actually Emilie Beauchamp would not bring in Danielle to say goodbye after all. She could understand her potential motivations for refraining from doing so – a desire for the girl to have a clean break, to get her away from things that would remind her of her mother’s murder, which must include the police officers who were investigating it. But she really hoped that wasn’t the case, she thought it might just break Richard’s heart – and hers a little as well if she was honest.

Camille need not have worried. Three hours might have been longer than she expected it to take, but then she supposed there were a lot of things that would need explaining. At four o’clock ( _Peppa Pig_ time, her brain supplied) they heard a knock on the doorframe and the whole station looked up to see Emilie and a slightly more subdued Danielle clutching her hand.

“Danielle and I are going to catch the ferry back to Guadeloupe soon, but we wanted to stop in and say goodbye and she wanted to say thanks you for looking after her.”

Actually, Danielle wasn’t saying anything, she was staring at the floor and clearly attempting not to cry. Camille glanced over to Richard was also trying not to look stricken himself. She walked over and perched on the edge of Richard’s desk, then called Danielle over. She dragged her feet over, and looked between the two of them so sadly Camille very nearly burst into tears like an over-emotional teenager.

“Why are you sad?” She asked Danielle.

“I’ll miss you,” she replied, miserable.

“We’ll miss you too,” Camille told her. Danielle glanced at Richard who hadn’t responded verbally, but he managed to nod at the girl’s enquiring look.

“Can’t you come live on Guadeloupe as well?”

“No, I’m sorry we can’t. We’re police officers here you see, Guadeloupe already has lots of police officers. Plus Richard can’t speak French so he’d be completely useless,” Camille explained.

“She’s right. I’d always be getting lost or accidently ordering worms for dinner in a restaurant,” Richard added.

“If you come to Guadeloupe for a visit will you come see me?”

Richard glanced up at the girl’s new guardian, before explaining gently, “If it’s ok with Emilie than yes.”

“Of course,” Emilie said immediately. “You have my number just call I’m sure we can always sort something out.”

Danielle seemed to be struck by sudden inspiration, turning on her heel and running back to Emilie. She tugged the woman down and whispered something in her ear. Emilie gave a small smile and nodded her ascent before turning to Richard and Camille, “Danielle and I would both like it very much if you could come to the wedding next month. And I mean that, I really am grateful for what you have done for Danielle. So, I’ll send you the details and you get back to me, ok?”

Camille didn’t bother to do the polite refusal thing, even though she knew it must be a pain to add two guests to your wedding party at this stage in the proceedings. Emilie did seem sincere in her invitation, and protesting would probably just upset Danielle further as well. Richard seemed to have reached a similar conclusion.

“Ok, I’m afraid you’ll have to say goodbye now Danielle,” Emilie said.

Camille opened up her arms and the child ran into them, then climbed briefly into Richard’s lap for a hug, also favouring him with a kiss on the cheek. She seemed a lot happier with leaving now she knew she would see them again. She waved goodbye enthusiastically to Fidel and Dwayne as she left. Camille looked back at Richard, to find he’d swung his chair around to face the wall. Dwayne and Fidel didn’t need telling, they announced loudly that it was about time they went out on patrol, and left the two of them alone. Camille remained perched on his desk, resisting the temptation to just go round and hug him. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by forcing him to show her emotions he clearly wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

“There was a time,” she said lightly. “That I would have said you were dead inside.”

She didn’t see him smile, because he was still busy staring at the opposite wall, but she could tell he did from the change in his shoulders and the hint of his amusement in his voice when he replied, “I am a bit.”

“Ah no, there is no fooling me. You’re just very English. I realised that pretty quickly. _Maman_ took more convincing though, in fact we had a bet on awhile back that I would never be able to prove you had actual, real, human emotions,” she continued.

“Going to go collect on that?” She asked, and she could tell he was a little worried by what her response would be.

“Oh, _Maman_ stopped thinking that a long time ago – though she never did pay up. I suppose I could go remind her of the bet and the evidence I have collected but I’m not going to do that. I’d hate for somebody to overhear and for you to lose your reputation, I mean what would you do if it got out that you were actually a kind, decent and caring human being?”

He finally turned the chair around, and Camille decided to ignore the fact that his eyes looked a little red, “Why I’d never work again.”

“Exactly,” She agreed, sharing a smile with him. “Though it is a shame because the bet was for an entire evenings worth of drinks.”

“Well then,” he said, gathering his jacket and case. “I guess since you have sacrificed your winnings for the sake of my reputation, the decent thing to do would be to repay you exactly what you lost out on. So, can I buy you a drink or 7?”

“I’d like that very much.”

As they left the station together, Camille thought they might just be heading towards something more than just her mother’s bar. It might not be the normal way couples develop their relationships, but they had a tendency to be unconventional.

And she rather liked it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man that ending was difficult to write. But at last, it is complete


End file.
